Chains of Earth
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Draco is kidnapped and forced to make a choice between taking his own life or becoming something less than human. Of course, he makes the right decision. Enter Harry, who discovers he has a bit of a thing for wings. This fic will contain MATURE ADULT CONTENT. :D
1. Chapter 1

What's that you say? Dyson hasn't posted a chaptered fic in a long long time? And Dyson hasn't written her OTP in a long long time? Well, you would be right. I aim to make up for that. Don't be fooled by this tiny Prologue - this fic is already 80k and might hit 100k by the time I finish. It's prettier on Livejournal, because it comes with COVER ART. *flails* Just stalk me there if you want to see it. (I'm dysonrules on there.)

**Chains of Earth **

**Prologue**

_When we walk to the edge of all the light we have_

_and take the step into the darkness of the unknown,_

_we must believe that one of two things will happen._

_There will be something solid for us to stand on_

_or we will be taught to fly._

_ -Patrick Overton_

Draco was cold. Cold and damned uncomfortable. A shiver coursed through his body, jolting him to awareness of things other than cold and discomfort, although those were still present. Both sensations intensified when he opened his eyes.

_What the fuck_? He sat bolt upright and then had to shut his eyes until vertigo and the urge to vomit subsided. He swallowed hard against the taste of bile. _Drugged, then_. Or hit with a Cruciatus while he was down.

He opened his eyes more carefully to examine his surroundings. Merlin, it was cold. And nearly dark. His gaze tracked over the inky stone that surrounded him on all sides, followed the repeating pattern up and up to the only spot of brightness—a patch of lead-coloured sky far above.

"I'm at the bottom of a pit?" he asked aloud, as if hoping his voice would dispel the illusion. His breath fogged the air and he wrapped his arms around himself without bothering to climb to his feet. Apparently the culprits responsible for bringing him here did not particularly care if he froze to death. He knew without checking that his wand would be gone. He checked anyway; it was.

Draco got to his feet. As he did so, his robes brushed against something. The clink of glass on stone drew his attention. Two vials lay at his feet, along with a scrap of paper. He bent and picked them up. The writing was unfamiliar, and very hard to read in the gloom.

_Malfoy—you have been judged and found wanting. Others may forgive your crimes, but we do not. It is well known that you never kill directly, preferring to let others do that for you. Therefore, we will follow your example and even offer mercy, of a sort. We have left you two potions. The one with the black cap contains a strong poison. If you wish to atone for your crimes, you will drink it. We cannot promise you a painless death, but it will be quick, and your miserable existence will come to a swift end._

_ If you are weak and choose to live, you may drink of the vial with the white cap. In so doing you will live, but at the cost of your humanity and your precious pureblood status. You will become less than human, a creature reviled and feared, barely more than an animal. You might even have the means to escape your prison. Choose wisely._

Draco stared at the vials in horror. Both were death sentences, as far as he was concerned. The first would kill him painfully, but quickly. Draco nearly threw it to the stone floor. He had no intention of killing himself. He looked blankly at the other vial. _Less than human. Reviled and feared_. What the hell was it? Vampire blood?

Draco tucked the vials into a pocket of his robes. He experienced a moment of panic when they nearly slipped out of his numbing fingers in the process. He steadied his nerves as they dropped into a pocket. Even horrible options were better than none at all.

He clapped his hands under his arms and stomped his booted feet. A few snowflakes drifted down from the opening. Shit, that was just what he needed, even _more_ cold. He marched in place again and felt pain shoot through his toes at the jolt of circulation. He walked the circuit of his small prison and looked for any possible escape. There was none. He realized he was in no mere pit, but a well, which explained the stone. He supposed he was lucky not to be standing in water.

The walls were smooth stone with mortared gaps too small for even fingertips to grasp. The exit was so high overhead that he would have been hard-pressed to escape even with a rope. Without his wand, he was helpless. And freezing.

Draco sat down and huddled against the wall, trying to warm himself as much as possible. The circle of light above grew steadily darker and the snowflakes increased in number. He wished heartily for the warm cloak, hat, and gloves he had been wearing when he was taken, but he supposed the items would only prolong his suffering.

He was unsure how long he held out. He tried running in place and waving his arms, but the exercise only warmed him for moments and left him colder than ever when the icy air whistled into his lungs. He shouted with rage for a long time, vowing revenge on his kidnappers and cursing them with every vile fate imaginable. He half-hoped his shouts would draw attention from above, but no face appeared to view his torment.

He finally slumped against the wall in defeat. Lethargy closed in on him like a shroud and he knew it was induced by the cold. Soon he would want nothing more than to lie down and succumb to it. He refused to allow that. No Malfoy would lie down and die willingly. Even suicide would be a better option.

Draco dug in his pocket for the vials. He held them carefully, as he could no longer feel his fingertips. He looked at the glass containers in sardonic amusement. He was lucky they had chosen monochromatic caps. Colours would have been impossible to discern in the thick darkness that surrounded him. As it was, it took several minutes of blinking at them through ice-encrusted lashes to determine the faint paleness of one cap that distinguished it from the other.

Inhuman or dead. It was a harder choice than Draco would have imagined, especially with the cold crushing down on him and promising to draw him into peaceful oblivion. In the end, it was the promise of revenge that decided him. Inhuman was still alive, and alive meant vengeance.

It was nearly a moot choice. His frozen fingers could not pry the cork cap from the vial. He tugged at it and half-sobbed in desperation before finally thinking to use his teeth. Even then, he had to try repeatedly as the vial kept slipping through his hands. Finally, the stubborn cap loosened and popped off. Draco's teeth chattered so badly he wondered how he would drink it. He forced himself to relax and held the vial in both hands, tipping his head back and dumping the contents into his mouth.

It took all of his willpower to swallow and keep the potion down. The taste was beyond vile and the texture was thick, oily, and evoked images of vomit or coagulated blood.

When the contents hit his stomach, Draco forgot inconsequential things like taste and texture. He screamed aloud as pain exploded through him, starting in his gut and roaring through every nerve ending. The agony went on and on until he felt certain his unknown assailants had lied and _both_ vials had been filled with the worst poison imaginable.

And then the pain changed. It did not diminish, oh no, but altered in intensity. Where Draco had previously been cold, he now felt dipped in flame. He tried to look at his hands, certain they were on fire, or melting, but more than the surrounding darkness blinded him. The pain seemed to centre in his back, over his shoulder blades. He felt his flesh literally ripping apart and he screamed again. It was too much, and Draco gratefully succumbed to blackness.

His first awareness was that he was not cold. His second was that he was still bloody uncomfortable, in spite of that. Draco opened his eyes to dim light and blank stone. He sat up gingerly and noted with relief that he was at least partially human. He could see his hands and they looked perfectly normal. He did a quick mental check and thought he felt okay. There was a heaviness pressing on his shoulders, but everything seemed to be intact. He stood up carefully and nearly overbalanced; he caught himself against the wall, still cataloguing. He remained in the fucking well, which was no surprise. His feet were normal. Legs were normal. Draco gripped his crotch. _That _was normal, thank Merlin.

Draco heaved a sigh of relief and noted the huge cloud of fog left by his breath. The floor was dusted with a thick layer of snow, but Draco was not cold. He flexed his fingers and found no stiffness, no chill, and no hint of frost damage.

_What the hell am I, then_? Vampire, after all? Werewolf? Either would be unpleasant, but not unbearable.

And then Draco flexed muscles he had not previously owned and caught a glimpse of feathers over his shoulder. He spun quickly, thinking himself no longer alone, but he lost his balance again. He fell to the floor and landed on something that gave him a most abnormal twinge of pain. Draco fell on his own wing.

He stared at the edge of it protruding from beneath his leg and gripped the feathers in disbelief. Feathers. He reached over his shoulder and a sickening sensation caused his stomach to lurch.

_Wings_.

He had wings.

The sheer unreality of it caught him by surprise and he laughed crazily. _Wings. I am a winged Malfoy_. The thought destroyed his brief flash of amusement. He was a Malfoy no more. He was not even human. He was a _freak_. Draco's knees nearly buckled at the thought and his wings flexed instinctively to maintain his balance. The movement dislodged the remains of his robes—they had obviously been shredded when his wings had emerged. Draco tore off the material and nearly threw it aside before recalling the last vial. He retrieved it and placed it in a pocket of his trousers, thinking he might yet need it. As an afterthought, he picked up the empty vial, capped it, and kept it as well.

He looked at the circle of light above. It was still lead-coloured and a few random snowflakes drifted down. Those could no longer hurt him, at least. He was not cold in the slightest.

Draco flexed his wings and set about learning how to fly.

~TBD~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

_Thou art an eagle,_

_thou doest belong to the sky and not to the earth,_

_stretch forth thy wings and fly_

_ -Paul H Dunn_

Harry Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor and was immediately reminded of things best forgotten. The last time he'd been here, he had been a prisoner of Death Eaters. Sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat at the memory, except that in his dreams Malfoy did not dissemble and pretend not to know him; instead the blond would point at Harry imperiously and cry, "It's Harry Potter!" And then Voldemort would appear with a loud crack and his clawed hands would reach for Harry, jolting him out of the dream with a scream on his lips.

He scowled and shook off the memory. He had not had that dream in a long time… well, a few weeks anyway. It would most likely return tonight after being stirred up by a visit to Malfoy Manor. Harry sighed.

The iron gates swung open and Harry started up the path. The white peacocks were still in evidence and several flared their tails at him in warning. They were pretty birds, but territorial and vicious… rather like the Malfoys, he realized.

A house-elf met him at the front door and escorted him to an opulent room, all the while watching him intently, as if waiting for him to snatch some priceless artefact and tuck it into his robes. Harry idly wondered what the creature would do in such a circumstance. Probably turn Harry into a pile of ash.

Narcissa Malfoy did not make him wait long, thankfully. Harry was afraid to sit down. The upholstery looked like silk and it was _white_, of all fucking things, which seemed like an extremely inadvisable colour for furniture if one intended to use it at all.

"Please sit down, Auror Potter," she said gracefully. "Thank you for coming."

Harry reluctantly parked himself on a white-clad chair, hoping his robes were not dusty enough to mar the silk—his field robes were not exactly immaculate. He had donned a decent green turtleneck, at least, one that Ginny had said looked nice on him. Narcissa took a seat across from him. The room was so huge that "across from him" was a span of at least ten paces. He leaned forward slightly so that she could hear him.

"It's my job, Mrs Malfoy, and please call me Harry. Regardless of my personal feelings toward your son, a serious crime has been committed. Your letter only stated that he was kidnapped and barely escaped with his life. You also mentioned that Malfoy… sorry, that _Draco_ paid a terrible price for refusing to die. Can you be more specific?"

"I should probably let my son give you the details. Some of it will be obvious when you see him." Unguarded pain flashed across her fine features for a moment and Harry wondered at the cause. Was Malfoy—fuck, he would have to start thinking of him as Draco, at least here at the Manor. He wondered if Draco had been disfigured. Harry felt a flare of satisfaction at the thought of Mr Perfect Skin and Hair being marred, and then guiltily shoved the idea aside as vindictive and unprofessional.

Narcissa's grief was very real and she stared at him without speaking for long moments, until Harry realized she was refusing to blink in an effort to stave off tears. He felt genuine guilt then and knew it must be quite serious to provoke such a reaction in front of Harry.

"I should warn you, Auror Potter, that my son is not quite… human… any longer." A tear did fall then, tricking down her pale cheek and slipping past gloss-pink lips. A house-elf popped up next to her with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. She took it absently and dabbed the wetness away. The elf disappeared.

"I'm sorry," they both said in unison. Harry flushed slightly and Narcissa's lips twisted in an almost-smile.

"Draco was very reluctant to involve the Ministry. It took me a week to convince him. He wants nothing more than to hunt down his assailants and destroy them. Luckily, he has little information to go on, and he cannot leave the Manor to question people. His forced confinement has been almost a blessing in that regard. I don't want him in any more danger." Her pale eyes flashed. "Despite what he has become, I still love Draco and I want to keep him safe." She got to her feet and something fierce in her gaze made her almost terrible to behold. "However, I want the bastards responsible to pay and pay dearly. I want them maimed and then _eviscerated_ for what they have done. My son was no saint during the war, but he did not deserve _that_!"

Harry had pressed back into his seat. He knew someone had made an extraordinary mistake to get on the bad side of this woman. She had betrayed Voldemort to protect her son. No mere mortal stood a chance against her. She sighed heavily.

"I'll take you to him now. Please excuse his foul temper."

Harry did not bother to mention that Draco always had a foul temper around him, so that should not be much of a change.

Narcissa tapped gently on the door before opening it to admit Harry. He entered and noted that the room was nearly pitch dark. The door shut behind him and he took a couple of cautious steps forward before halting, not wanting to run into any furniture. No doubt Draco would find that amusing.

"Malfoy?" he asked uncertainly, wishing he had asked what sort of "not quite human" Draco had become. Vampire? Werewolf? Veela?

"Potter," came the dry response. The voice was the same, at any rate.

"I came to… um… help you," Harry said. A sardonic snort met his words and Harry fought down his annoyance.

"A bit late for that, Potter. Where were you ten days ago when I could have used your assistance?" The words were sarcastic, but they carried an edge of despair that gave Harry pause. Shit, what could have been so bad it caused Malfoy to long for hi_s_ help?

"Can I see you?" he asked quietly, peering into the dark in the direction of Malfoy's voice. There was a long pause and he sensed Malfoy's reluctance. Harry's curiosity was piqued. How bad could it be? Was he some sort of monster?

"All right," came the eventual response.

Harry braced himself as the lights suddenly flared in the room. He blinked for a moment against the brightness and nearly gasped aloud, despite himself, when his returning vision located the blond.

Harry suddenly found it hard to breathe. He had never really appreciated that Malfoy was attractive. The blond had always seemed pale and thin, and somewhat pointy with too many angles and edges. Of course, it had been five years since Harry had seen him. They weren't seventeen any more. Adulthood suited Malfoy, as did the _wings_ he now sported.

Harry took several steps forward, trying not to stare while slowly cataloguing the changes—besides the wings, of course; those were obvious. The hair, for one, was longer, softer, and fell partially over the grey eyes. Malfoy's face had changed slightly, filling out the points and angles to leave only chiselled beauty. Malfoy wore no shirt and although he was lean, he could no longer be described as thin. He was tall, also. He seemed a bit taller than Harry, though not by much.

The wings… god, the wings were amazing. Large masses of snow-white feathers seemed to highlight Malfoy's pale skin and hair.

Harry tried to speak, but only one idiotic word emerged. "Wow."

~~ O ~~

Draco stared at the Auror. He had expected amusement, satisfaction, or even revulsion. He had not anticipated Potter's expression of near-reverence and a single utterance tinged with something that sounded like _admiration_.

Potter walked forward and his green eyes seemed to touch Draco everywhere, not even focusing on the wings beyond the initial surprise and a quick sweep.

"Is that the only change?" Potter asked quietly.

Draco stared, and then welcomed the anger. "Is it not enough for you? Would you prefer scars, claws, and a tail, as well?"

"Certainly not," Potter quipped lightly. "I'm not fond of scars, and your claws are vicious enough as the verbal sort. What type of tail were you considering?"

Draco glared. "I'm in no mood for jokes, Potter," he snapped. Astonishingly, the Auror looked contrite.

"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to put you more at ease. Can you tell me what caused this? Your mother gave me no details—she thought it would be best if I heard it from you."

The tone was calming and businesslike. _Auror-speak_, Draco assumed. He nearly sighed in relief. Potter's no-nonsense Auror voice was much preferred over the tones of awe or teasing.

"It was a potion," Draco admitted in a dull tone.

"All right. Let's say we start at the beginning. That way, I won't have to keep asking you questions. Where were you and what were you doing at the time you were taken?"

"I was in Diagon Alley. Alone."

Potter pulled out his wand and conjured a scroll and a Quick-Quotes Quill. It scribbled words quickly as Potter asked questions.

"What were you wearing?"

"A pink ball gown," Draco snarled. "What the hell difference does it make?"

"Standard questions," Potter said and shrugged. "I need to know what you wore, carried, held, dropped, etcetera."

Draco sighed and bit back an apology. He needed to remember that Potter was here in an official capacity. He wasn't here to make Draco feel foolish—that part just seemed to come naturally. "Fine. I wore a black nundu-fur cloak trimmed in silver fox. Fur-lined black leather gloves. A nundu-fur hat. Forest green robes, a white cashmere jumper, and black trousers. Socks. Boots. I carried my wand and a parcel containing almond fudge."

"Excellent. You were coming from and going to…?"

"I had just left Fortescue's and was heading toward the Apothecary."

"And?"

"When I approached the alley entrance beyond Madam Malkin's an Immobilizing Spell hit me. Someone grabbed my arms—one person on each side, actually—and dragged me into the alley."

"Can you describe them at all?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. I only caught a glimpse, as I could not turn my head. One was large, taller than me by half a head. Most likely male, and strong." Draco was surprised at the details he could recall when he thought about the incident in a more clinical light. Perhaps Potter really did know what he was doing. "He made quick work of hauling me into the alley. The other was shorter, and slight. It could have been a woman or a young man."

"Did you notice anything else about them? Try to think back and consider all five senses. You've described their physical appearances; now go one step further. Do you remember any distinctive smells? Perfume or cologne?"

Draco considered, trying to recall. Had there been a feminine perfume?

"I think the smaller one might have been female. She may have worn a scent, but at this point I might be making it up to fit into my assumptions."

Potter's green eyes seemed to measure him and he nodded. "Fair enough. We'll note it as a possibility. Did they speak or use anything that made a sound?"

"The smaller one spoke both times. First the spell to Immobilize me, and next the spell to put me down. You know, I'm almost positive it was a woman now, even though the voice was quiet and possibly disguised."

Potter nodded and then offered, "You might recall more details with a Pensieve. I'll bring one, if you don't mind meeting with me again. It won't disclose any details you don't recall, such as faces, but it may enhance things you do remember, if only minutely."

Draco hesitated, unwilling to agree to yet another meeting with his boyhood nemesis, but what had he expected? Did he think one interview with Potter would allow the Auror to rush off and apprehend the culprits? Draco was assaulted by momentary despair. This was probably a complete waste of time and Potter was most likely humouring him.

Draco shrugged noncommittally in response to Potter's question. The green eyes watched him intently.

"Nearly finished," Potter said. "Any textures in particular? Type of cloth? If you did not see their wands, did you feel them? Could you tell if they were rigid or springy, short or long? That sort of thing."

Draco snorted. "Well, their tacky hooded robes were definitely not high quality. I believe they were cheap substandard wool."

"How could you tell?"

"By looking at them, of course. The way fabric falls is very distinctive, you know. Quality is always evident at first glance."

Potter actually laughed. "Do you have any idea how poncy that sounds?"

Draco glared and tried to ignore the comment. He should have known the insults would start eventually, even though they came from an unexpected quarter.

"I have fucking _wings_, Potter. Somehow I don't think my sexual orientation makes much difference any longer."

Potter's speculative gaze swept over Draco once more and an enigmatic smile curved the Auror's lips. Draco wondered when the hell Harry bloody Potter had become intriguing. Draco wanted to stalk forward and shake him while demanding to know what that damned smile meant. In that, he supposed nothing much had changed. Draco had always wanted to put violent hands on Harry Potter.

"Cheap robes," Potter said blandly. "All right, the last question about the actual kidnapping, although you've partially answered it… Intuition, impressions, feelings. You said you believe one was female and one male. Anything else? Any speculation as to their identities or why they sought you in particular?"

Draco walked to the nearby desk and managed to do so without overbalancing or stumbling. He was still not used to the unfamiliar weight and balance of the wings. He took up a parchment and handed it to Potter. The Auror moved closer to take it.

"Only one impression, I suppose. Judging by their hands on me, I think both of them hate me quite violently. I have no doubt that I was specifically targeted. As to why, well here is the list."

Potter's eyes skimmed the page. Draco had written two neat columns by gender of all potential grudge holders against Draco. The reasons had been jotted alongside. He expected a snide comment or at least a smirk at the quantity of names, but Potter merely folded it and tucked it into a robe pocket.

"Thanks. This will give me a start. I'll begin checking alibis, if nothing else. Now do you know where you were taken after your capture?"

Draco described the well and what he could remember of its location. It had taken him what seemed forever to get his bearings and find his way home.

"Could you find it again?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged and nodded, though he was not completely sure.

"Will you take me there?"

"Certainly, Potter. Hop on and I'll fly you straight there like a sugar plum fairy." Potter said nothing and Draco sneered. "Rid me of these damned wings and I'll guide you there by broom. Until then, I have no intention of leaving this house."

Potter let it slide. "I'll try to locate it based on your directions. I doubt it will be anything simple, such as conveniently located on the property of your abductors. However, we could get lucky. Tell me what happened when you woke up in captivity."

Draco described the scenario in tones as flat and emotionless as possible, giving little clue as to his emotional state at the time. Even so, Potter looked horrified. Draco handed over the note and the empty vial. Potter took it carefully and dropped it into a dark sack before tucking the entirety into another pocket.

"You said there were two vials."

"I left the poison behind," Draco lied. He had no intention of handing over the other vial. He might have need of it.

"So, you took the potion and woke up… like this."

Draco nodded.

"May I examine your wings?" Potter asked and blushed profusely before tugging at his hair. Draco would have been amused by Potter's reaction if the very idea of the Auror touching his wings was not so alarming.

"I'm not a sideshow or an—" _Animal_, he nearly finished, until he realized he was more animal than human now.

"I know that. I just need to get the facts straight for my report, and to do that I need to know how they are… attached."

Draco wanted to argue, but not as much as he wanted the damned annoying Auror to go away.

"If it will hasten your departure, then yes," Draco snarled and flexed his wings with a snap. The movement nearly startled him—it had been involuntary.

"I'll make it quick and then I'll be gone," Potter promised. He moved around to Draco's side and reached out to run a hand over the soft white feathers near Draco's shoulder. The sensation was almost excruciatingly sensitive. It was irritating as hell that every fucking feather seemed to carry a mass of nerve endings that sent almost electric vibrations through Draco at every touch. It did not help that Potter's expression reverted back to that bizarre reverence.

"Oh," Potter said softly. The utterance caused a strange, unwelcome feeling to sift through Draco's insides, as though something had transferred from Potter to Draco and taken up residence through a single word.

Potter touched Draco's skin at the point where the wing connected to his back through whatever new bones had grown there. His senses swam for a moment and Draco hissed in reaction. Potter jerked his hand away.

"Sorry. Is my hand cold?"

Draco moved aside quickly, vowing not to allow _that_ to happen again any time soon.

~~ O ~~

Harry let his hand drop with reluctance as Malfoy moved away. His fingers seemed to burn from the warmth of Malfoy's skin. _God, those feathers_. They were soft as eiderdown. Harry wanted to stroke the length of them and rub his face over the soft whiteness.

_Get a grip, Harry_, he ordered himself. _No matter how pretty and soft they are, they are still attached to _Malfoy_, which equates to evil incarnate_. He studied Malfoy's profile and felt a twinge of pity at the blond's downcast expression. Well, perhaps not evil any longer. The people who had taken him and turned him into (_an angel_) whatever he was now were evil. Harry suddenly knew he would hunt them down, no matter what it took.

"All right, Malfoy," he said. "I think that gives me enough information. I'll be back tomorrow with the Pensieve, if that's all right."

Indecision crossed the blond's features and his perfect teeth worried his perfect lower lip. Harry decided it would be a good idea to stop applying the word _perfect_ to Malfoy, because he was beginning to think of the git in complementary terms. Better to stick with adjectives like _annoying_ and _obnoxious_.

Nonetheless, he could not control his relief when Malfoy nodded curtly. He told himself it was simply that he felt sorry for the prat, trapped here in this stuffy mansion, afraid to show his (_perfect_) face and (_perfect_) wings to the rest of the world. It certainly did not mean he _wanted_ to see Malfoy again.

Harry gathered his parchment and banished the Quick Quotes Quill before heading for the door. Harry paused with his hand on the knob and looked back at the pale figure.

"It's probably not much consolation, especially coming from me, but they actually suit you. You look…" The word _beautiful_ lodged in Harry's throat and he turned the handle and fled, wondering when the hell he had developed a fetish for feathers.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Fly, dotard, fly!_

_With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky._

_ -Alexander Pope_

Draco scowled after the Auror. _I look what? Foolish? Idiotic? A laughingstock? _ He wanted to shout at Potter in frustration. The Auror had not looked amused, however. His expression had been more akin to a child opening packages at Christmas.

He stalked over and stood before the full-length mirror. Draco studied himself, trying to see through Potter's eyes. What the hell had Potter seen? Draco's skin was still pale, his hair was still silver-blond, and his lips still curved in a perpetual sneer. The massive gobs of fucking feathers were the only outward change. He recalled Potter's soft, "Oh," and the strange look on his face. Draco turned away from the mirror in disgust.

_Fuck, what of it_? The Gryffindor had always been odd, befriending giants and centaurs and Weasleys. He probably saw Draco as just another pitiable creature that needed saving. Regardless of what Potter saw or did not see, Draco was an outcast. His only motive now was revenge. He only needed Potter to point him in the right direction.

A tentative knock sounded at the door and Draco felt an unwelcome surge of hope that Potter had returned and immediately strangled it to death with a grimace. Was he really that desperate for companionship?

His mother opened the door and took a hesitant step inside.

"Draco?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

_I still have feathers, if that's what you're asking_, he thought dryly. "I'm fine, Mother."

She walked to the desk and pretended to straighten the quills and jars of ink. It was her latest affectation—focusing her attention on random items to avoid looking at her son.

"He's agreed to help you, then?" she asked, although she had to have spoken to Potter on his way out.

"Naturally. It's his nature to assist lost causes and rescue the freaks of the world," Draco said bitterly.

She flinched and looked at him directly for a moment. "We will beat this, Draco," she said adamantly.

He sighed, not in the mood to humour her. Potter's visit had reminded him of how much he had lost. "I just hope he can lead me to the bastards that did this to me," Draco said. "Everything else is secondary."

"Revenge should be secondary to reversing the effects of the potion, Draco," she corrected primly, causing Draco to suppress a sneer of disbelief. He had been fundamentally changed. Did she think he could just take another potion and be back to normal? "I've spent the last two days going through every book in the library," she went on, no longer looking at him as she minutely shifted a candlestick on the desk. "I've found nothing yet, but there is a promising reference…"

She rambled on, unaware that Draco no longer heard her. He doubted even his father's library had the answer to this situation. If Draco had been changed by a spell, it might have been possible to reverse the effects, but potions tended to be more permanent and often irreversible. His mysterious enemies had known what they were doing, at any rate.

His mother finally ran out of self-reassuring words, gave Draco a weak smile, and departed. He sighed. She had not touched him since his return, which was not entirely surprising—the Malfoys were hardly demonstrative—but even a brief touch might have helped him fight the pall of loneliness that threatened to drag him into despair. If his own mother would not even touch him… Draco remembered Potter's gentle touch upon his wing and the minute graze against his skin. Was that the best he could hope for?

He scowled and turned away from all thought of Harry Potter. Draco would see him tomorrow, at any rate. It somewhat annoyed him that he was looking forward to the visit.

~~ O ~~

Harry left Malfoy Manor and Apparated home to number 12, Grimmauld Place. He had forgotten to get Malfoy's permission to tell Kingsley about the kidnapping. It was serious enough to warrant the status of an actual case, rather than something Harry could spend his free time investigating. It was possible that the crime was a vendetta against Malfoy alone, but if other purebloods turned up with wings, the Ministry would be challenged for not leaping into the fray immediately.

Harry stripped off his clothing and thought about Malfoy's wings. It was an odd way to seek revenge, although in Malfoy's case it had probably been the best possible vengeance. Harry had sensed the depths of Malfoy's despair even through the façade of sneering superiority. Wings. A pureblood of Draco's status would see it as a sentence nearly as bad as death.

Harry set the empty vial on the desk in his room and made another mental note. He would need help to trace the potion, if such a thing were even possible. It was too bad the wizards did not have anything akin to Muggle fingerprinting, or the vial itself might have been useful. It was possible to trace the magical signature left on an item, but the perpetrators likely knew that and would have taken precautions. Malfoy's would also have overridden any signature when he handled the vial.

Kreacher popped up next to him and whisked Harry's dirty clothing away. "Master Harry's bath is being ready," he said.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry replied absently. "Please don't touch this vial—I need to take it to the Ministry tomorrow."

"Yes, Master Harry. Will Master Harry be needing dinner soon?" The question was hopeful and Harry wondered if the old house-elf actually liked to prepare Harry's meals, or if he simply despised the Weasleys enough to be willing to do anything to keep Harry from going.

"No. You'll remember I'm going to the Weasleys' tonight. You need not wait up for me."

"Kreacher is remembering, Master Harry. Kreacher is only hoping Master Harry is being at home instead." The house-elf's tone was thick with disapproval.

"I'm still going, Kreacher. Thanks, anyway." Harry stepped into the tub and cast a spell that sent the water up and over his head in a steady stream—his version of a Muggle shower. Someday he would rig up some sort of curtain around the tub, but it was easy enough to cast a quick Drying Charm on the water that splashed onto the floor, so he knew he would probably never bother.

Another Drying Spell dealt with his hair, although he did not bother to try and comb it flat. Mrs Weasley would generally tackle it as soon as he arrived, anyway. She could not seem to help herself. He paused with a momentary twinge as he remembered it has been quite a long time since she had mothered him, actually, which was hardly surprising. He felt a moment of trepidation when he considered the evening ahead and shook it off with determination. Dinner last week had been strained, but fine.

He dressed quickly, realizing he was already late. When he deemed himself presentable, he Disapparated.

Harry appeared before the front door of the Burrow and knocked politely. Molly Weasley opened the door and said, "Harry, how many times have I told you it's okay for you to pop straight into the kitchen?"

Harry smiled politely and gave his usual response, "Yes, Mrs Weasley." He felt a flash of sadness knowing the days he had felt comfortable popping into the Weasleys' house were long past. He knew they invited him over out of sheer habit and enforced politeness. Harry still accepted the invitations in a desperate attempt to regain something he knew was lost, possibly forever.

"Come in and sit down. Everyone else is already here. We weren't sure you were still coming."

Harry stammered an apology, but she ignored it and preceded him into the kitchen, which smelled heavenly. His mouth began to water at the thought of beef and potatoes with thick gravy.

"Harry, my boy, come have a seat," Arthur said warmly. Harry was almost ridiculously grateful for his presence. Despite everything, Arthur's affection had always seemed steady and constant.

"Yes, Harry," said Ron loudly. "Come and grace us with your magnificent presence."

Harry suppressed a sigh and knew it was going to be a bad night. Ron's words were already slurred and a glass of Firewhiskey sat half-empty next to his plate. Ginny threw Harry an apologetic look as he took the seat conspicuously open next to hers.

"I'm surprised you bothered to join us at all, Harry," Ron continued. "Big shot Auror like yourself eating with us lowly common folk."

"Ron, that's enough," Arthur snapped.

"Oh, is it, then?" Ron countered belligerently.

"Maybe I should go," Harry said quietly to Mr Weasley, noting the tears in Mrs Weasley's eyes as she sat down across from Harry.

"Oh, no, how about wonderful Harry Potter stays and I leave?" Ron offered. "You always wished he was your bloody son, anyway, right, mum? Perfect Potter, the perfect son."

"Knock it off, Ron. You're drunk," Ginny said sharply.

Ron laughed nastily. "Drunk enough to tell the fucking truth, which you could stand a bloody big dose of, Ginevra. You think he's going to come crawling back to you one day, you stupid twat?"

"Ronald!" Mrs Weasley yelled. Her voice bordered on a shriek. "How dare you speak that way to your sister?"

Harry pushed back his chair and stood, feeling nauseous despite the tantalizing smell of the food and the fact that he hadn't eaten since early that morning.

"Yeah, let's all just play pretend," Ron jeered. "It's a Weasley trait, innit? Ginny pretends Harry loves her, Mum pretends Fred isn't dead, and me—well, I'll just pretend I can still walk!" He put both hands flat on the table and lurched forward, rattling the table and knocking over a goblet. Ginny yelled, "_Fuck you, Ron_!" Molly Weasley burst into tears.

Harry backed away as Arthur got to his feet and reached out a hand, whether to stop Harry or grab him for support, Harry wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "Oh, god, I'm so very sorry."

Ron slumped over the table, spilling food and knocking over his Firewhiskey when his arms gave out. Molly sobbed openly into her hands and Arthur turned his attention to comforting her.

Ginny pushed away from the table. "I'll see you out, Harry," she said.

Harry felt like a coward when he fled the scene, but his relief overwhelmed the guilt.

"I should not have come," he said when the door shut behind them and the cool evening air hit his face. He breathed deeply and felt like his chest might burst.

"It's not your fault. He was fine last week. I should have warned you he'd been drinking today," Ginny said. Harry chanced a glance at her and saw her beautiful face taut with sorrow.

"Look, Gin, what he said—"

"Don't, Harry," she said sharply. "We've been over this a dozen times. It's true, after all. You don't love me."

_I love you like a sister_, he wanted to say, but he had uttered those words once before and the force of her rage had nearly flattened him. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny cut him off.

"Look, Harry, it's not your fault. None of us blames you for anything, not even Ron when he's in his right mind."

"Yeah," Harry said, not really believing her words. Ron, for certain, blamed him, and rightfully so. If Harry had only been a moment faster, paid attention a bit more closely…

Ginny's hand was on his arm, squeezing gently. He dared not pull away, lest she see it as another rejection.

"Tell your mum I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely.

She sighed and nodded before she released him. "I love you, Harry."

He winced as though she'd cut him, nodded foolishly, and Disapparated. In his room, he stared at the vial on his desk and tried to find something to hold on to. His world seemed suddenly composed of despair.

He could not love Ginny, he could not help Ron, and he could not bring Fred Weasley back from the dead. Maybe he could help Malfoy the Winged Wonder.

Harry laughed and realized it bordered on hysteria.

Some fucking comfort that was.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

_No one regards what is before his feet;_

_We all gaze at the stars_

_ -Quintus Ennius_

In the end, Harry went to see Hermione. She granted him access through the Floo Network and looked at the clock as she sighed.

"What happened?" she asked and set aside some ridiculously large tome she had been reading. A Brief History of the Ministry of Magic. Harry made a face.

"Ron was drunk," he said.

"I suppose you haven't eaten?" she asked and answered her own question by marching into the kitchen. Harry trailed after her and sat at the small table while she heated water with a spell and tossed in some pasta. She pulled a bowl of sauce out of the fridge and warmed it. Hermione's house was a curious mixture of wizarding and Muggle items. She had a modern cooker and a refrigerator, although both of them ran on magic rather than electricity.

Harry gratefully ate the pasta with cheese-laden meat sauce and drank two butterbeers. Hermione dipped small pieces of bread into the extra sauce and watched him eat.

"So Ron is still acting like a stupid prat?" she commented when he finished. Harry flushed.

"He has a right, Hermione."

"It's been seven months, Harry! He does not have the right to inflict his perpetual self-indulgent anger on everyone around him. If the Weasleys would stop coddling him and treating him like poor, broken little Ronnikins—" She broke off and took a steadying breath. "Sorry. I know this is a sore point with you, but Harry, you have got to stop blaming yourself. What happened to Ron was an accident!"

Harry nodded and examined the wet rings left behind on the table by the condensation from the bottles. He lifted one and made random circular patterns by setting it down and picking it up repeatedly. He did not believe Hermione's words and she knew it. Harry felt responsible for Ron's injury and Hermione's subsequent break-up with him.

"Any interesting cases?" she asked to change the subject.

Harry gratefully turned his mind to work. "Yeah, actually. There is one I could use your help with, but I have to get permission first. Hopefully I can convince him."

If anyone could help him track down the potion used on Malfoy, it was Hermione. Harry did not relish trying to convince Malfoy of that, however. Hermione nodded, knowing he would not say anything else about it. Their conversation turned to random Ministry happenings and Harry felt much calmer when he returned home and climbed into bed.

~~ O ~~

Draco was annoyed. After his sixth trip to the mirror to check his hair, he realized he was primping for Harry Potter. Not only that, but he was looking almost ridiculously forward to another visit from the git. He supposed it only proved he was desperate for companionship, no matter how inane. Draco had nearly owled Greg and asked him to drop by, almost willing to divulge his secret in exchange for normal conversation. In actuality, Draco had been avoiding Greg, who would likely start to feel slighted if Draco came up with another lame excuse to avoid seeing him. He would probably have to reveal himself, and hopefully his long-time friendship with Draco would overcome his pureblood revulsion at what Draco had become.

Draco was not quite ready to chance it.

He checked his appearance once more and then scowled at the mirror. He did look good, though. He had decided to wear a shirt this time rather than risk another moment of contact with Potter, although the Auror had little reason to touch him. The black cashmere turtleneck was sleeveless and Draco had split it up the back to accommodate the wings. A bit of contortion allowed him to repair the slits.

He admired himself once more—ignoring the idiotic feathers as best he could—and headed for the solar. It was bright enough to satisfy Potter's need to gawk at him and yet provide Draco some comfort. The solar had always been one of his favourite rooms, especially in the winter. The beautiful green trees and flowers inside the solar contrasted with the barren trees and snow-covered garden just beyond the frost-edged windows. Clumps of white narcissus perfumed the air in tribute to Draco's mother.

Potter the Pleb had the sense to be impressed. He walked straight to the huge windows and gazed out at the cold November morning. The sky was dull grey, promising later snow.

"Great room," Potter said. He had foregone his Auror uniform today and instead wore semi-formal robes of forest green. Draco had glimpsed a black shirt beneath the robes during Potter's cursory greeting. Potter in green. Would wonders never cease?

"Good news," Potter said without turning from the window. "Kingsley assigned a case number and allowed me to assist you on my own. I did not divulge the nature of your… affliction, only that you were kidnapped and forced to choose between death and, well… I gave him the notes. They were sent for analysis, though I doubt anything useful will come of it."

Draco let Potter babble with a half-smile. It was nice to hear something besides silence or the forced cheer of his mother's voice. Potter turned to look at him and Draco appreciated how the green robes caused Potter's eyes to look like spring leaves. The Auror ruined the effect by raising a hand to shove the spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose. Potter's fingers were surprisingly long and slender. Draco wondered if _all_ of Potter was long and slender and shut down that line of thinking immediately. Where the hell had that thought come from?

The Auror removed an item from his robes and looked at Draco quizzically.

"I brought the Pensieve. Where should we—?"

Draco gestured to the circular marble bench in the centre of the room. It surrounded a huge statue of a Nereid that normally spewed a fountain of water from the urn clasped beneath her arm, but Draco found the pleasant bubble of water quite annoying; he had shut it off.

"This should be fine, unless you require some special accommodation?"

A tinge of irritation crossed Potter's features, but he only shook his head. A quick spell enlarged the Pensieve and Potter set the bowl-like object on the seat. He conjured Pensieve-liquid next, which poured from the Auror's wand tip until the stuff licked at the edges of the bowl. Draco was impressed, despite himself. Pensieve-liquid was not water. It was not easy to conjure.

Potter looked expectantly at Draco, who sighed. He was not looking forward to allowing Potter to romp through his memories, even though he understood the necessity.

"Don't worry," Potter said reassuringly. Draco gave him a glare. He was no damned Hufflepuff to require handholding. Draco tapped his wand to his forehead and spoke the spell to remove the memory. He practically hurled the silvery strand into the Pensieve.

"Are you, um… coming along?" Potter asked.

Draco shook his head. "I went through it once, Potter. I have no wish to relive it." He crossed his arms and went to take Potter's former place at the window, leaving the Auror to his voyeurism.

~~ O ~~

Harry watched Malfoy stalk toward the cold vista. His eyes slid over the white wings, which looked even more magnificent against the black of Malfoy's outfit. The sleeveless turtleneck was almost worse than the bare skin Malfoy had displayed the previous day. It made Harry feel somewhat warm and oddly prickly.

_It's the damned wings_, he thought. _That's all_.

Harry turned his attention back to the Pensieve and tried to put himself into Auror mode. He had to stop thinking of Draco Malfoy as attractive. Harry sat down and put his face into the liquid. He recognized Diagon Alley immediately and stepped back as Draco strolled down the street, looking straight ahead and holding a box labelled with Fortescue's distinctive logo. He walked as though he owned the street and absently sneered at an older witch that brushed by him with an offended sniff.

Harry did not see Malfoy's assailants until they grabbed him—they seemed to appear from thin air, which was a limitation of a Pensive memory, it could only provide what the person remembered and since Malfoy did not know from which direction they had come, to him it was as though they had popped up suddenly, which was possible with Apparition, of course, but there had been no sound.

"_Petrificus Totalis_!" the smaller figure said, jamming her wand into Malfoy's ribs. _Definitely a woman_, Harry noted, even though only her hands were visible outside the voluminous dark cloak. Malfoy went rigid and the scope of the memory narrowed as his panic blocked out everything other than his immediate surroundings. The man picked him up by the arms and half-dragged, half-carried him into a darkened alley. The woman—who remained completely covered by her dark robes, trailed behind, the movement of her hood suggesting she watched for onlookers.

"_Stupefy_!" she hissed when they reached the shadows and the memory instantly went black. Harry thought he would pull out of the Pensieve, but instead he fell into a well, which was a bit disorienting. He suppressed an involuntary shiver when the light brightened and he watched the memory-Malfoy explore his icy surroundings.

Malfoy railed at his captors, searched for escape, and finally succumbed to the lure of the potion rather than give in to the encroaching threat of slow death by freezing. Harry's throat felt tight when Malfoy swallowed the liquid. He watched the wings erupt and then the memory went dark.

Harry came out of the Pensieve and carefully schooled his features. The last thing he needed Malfoy to see was pity. Harry looked at the Nereid statue, not seeing the marble carving. He needed a moment to sort out his feelings. What Malfoy saw as weakness Harry counted as strength. The blond had seen the depths of despair and emerged unbroken. It was difficult for Harry to admit to admiration when it came to Draco Malfoy. _Except physically, apparently_. He made a face.

He turned finally and met the silver gaze. Malfoy watched him expressionlessly.

"You never answered me when I asked if the potion had any effects besides the obvious," Harry said. "I take it your magic was not affected?"

"I have not noticed a change in my spell casting abilities," Draco admitted. "And I seem to be immune to cold."

"You're immune to cold?" Harry repeated.

"An interesting side effect, considering where I was imprisoned. I often wonder if my assailants knew it would happen."

"Anything else?"

Malfoy seemed to hesitate and then shrugged. "I'm quite a lot stronger now. Physically, I mean. I think it has to do with the wings. They seem to generate some sort of field that allows me to fly. These _things_—" Malfoy lifted the edge of a wing with one hand, splaying the feathers like a beautiful fan "—could not hold my weight without magical enhancement."

Harry nodded and looked away from the expanse of white highlighted by the black of Malfoy's clothing. "Probably some sort of Weightlessness Field." He turned and busied himself with the Pensieve, extracting the sliver of memory. Malfoy stepped up and allowed Harry to return the memory with a touch of wand to temple.

Malfoy's proximity was disturbing and Harry quickly turned his attention back to the Pensieve. _Not attractive, not attractive, not attractive_, he chanted to himself. He Vanished the liquid and shrank the Pensieve while wondering when he had ever found a bloke to be so lust-worthy, anyway. Not that he lusted after Malfoy! The git was just… very pretty. _It's the fucking wings_, Harry reminded himself.

"Malfoy, there is one person I would like to tell about this," he said.

"Chief Editor of the _Daily Prophet_?" Malfoy asked dryly.

Harry looked at him with relief and nearly smiled. When Malfoy was being a fuckwad it was easier to think of him in a less positive light. _Definitely not attractive_.

"Hermione, actually," Harry said.

Malfoy snorted. "I should have guessed. I suppose you'll need to let Weasley know as well, eh?"

Harry blanched at the mention of Ron.

"No," he said quietly. "No, I don't think so." Thankfully, Malfoy said nothing. Apparently he did not know about Ron's condition. "I need Hermione to research for me. I'm shite at it."

"What do you need researched?" Malfoy asked. "We have quite an extensive library here at the Manor."

_I want to know what the hell you are_, Harry thought but did not relish a punch in the mouth for the comment. "She has access to historical files since she works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I want her to search for any similar potions used in the past and anyone that might have had access to them. Besides, she lives for that sort of thing. She will probably consider it an early Christmas gift. She might also think of things you and I would not."

Malfoy's expression clearly defined what he thought of Hermione's ability to outthink him, but he did not immediately reject the idea, which Harry found hopeful.

"Can you trust her to say nothing?" Malfoy asked.

Harry grinned at him. "Of course."

"No one else will know?"

"I promise," Harry said.

Malfoy sighed and nodded. He looked suddenly very dejected and Harry impulsively put a hand on his arm.

"Hey," he said. "It will be fine. You'll see."

~~ O ~~

Draco felt Potter's hand touch his bare arm and the world went white. It lasted only an instant and then Draco saw _Potter in a dimly lit room, holding a wad of papers and grinning sardonically_. The scene shifted and _Potter was running at top speed, yelling something soundless. His Auror-robes billowed and snagged on bushes as he ploughed through them_. Another shift and _Potter's head was tipped back to expose his throat. His glasses were gone and his hair clung to his forehead in dark tendrils, damp with sweat. His lips were slightly parted and his pale cheeks were flushed_.

Draco leaped away from the Auror and the dreamlike quality faded. Potter's face scrunched up with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Draco said sharply, although a headache had bloomed behind his eyes.

"You went completely blank there for a minute. I thought you were having a seizure."

"Malfoys don't have seizures," Draco sneered absently. He fought the urge to rub his temples and watched as Potter almost visibly bit his tongue. The Auror's jaw twitched.

"I'll just be going then," he said finally. He turned back to the Pensieve and tucked it into his pocket. "I'll have Hermione start pulling records while I check out the area where you were taken. I'll also try to locate the well and see if the surroundings wield any clues. I will keep you posted by owl, if that's all right."

"Of course. I'm sure you normally charge a fee for the honour of receiving a personal visit from the Vanquisher of All Evil."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Potter snapped.

Draco nearly laughed. He had forgotten how much of a thrill it was to torment Potter.

"Can you remember the way out?" Draco asked mildly.

"I'll manage," the Auror said and left.

Draco flicked his wand to restart the fountain and watched the water flow as he pondered what he had seen. It had happened once before. The first time had been after Draco's return to the Manor. His mother—after her initial attack of near-hysteria—had gingerly hugged him. A trancelike vision had assaulted Draco. He had seen his mother hunched over a desk piled high with dusty books, rubbing her eyes as if exhausted. A second image had shown his mother in the garden tending yellow roses with her hair pulled back in an elaborate braid.

Draco fingered his wand and tried to find a common element. Bare skin contact, apparently. He had been shirtless when his mother had hugged him. Potter's hand had touched his bare arm. Apparently a casual brush would not trigger the… what? Visions? Memories? Were they pictures of the past, or the future?

He thought about Potter with his head tipped back and eyes glazed with passion. Draco drew a shaky breath. He decided he must be hard up for sex to find that particular image erotic. Still, he wondered who Potter had been with—or would be with?—to induce such an expression. The ginger Weaslette? Draco had not kept up with the news surrounding Potter in the past five years, except for a cursory snarl at the _Daily Prophet_ whenever the Auror's face appeared. For all Draco knew, Potter might have married the bint by now. The idea filled him with horror and he shrugged it off. _I just don't like Weasleys_, he rationalized. _That's all_.

He decided to go and comb through back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ and brush up on his Potter lore. Just for something to do, of course.

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

Tired of short chapters? Well, then, have a LONG one. :D

**Chapter Four**

_Oh, that I had wings like a dove,_

_for then I would fly away,_

_and be at rest._

_ -Psalms 55:6_

Harry's search of Diagon Alley turned up nothing, as expected. The place where Draco had been abducted had obviously been carefully chosen in advance. There was a curve in the street at that point and tall tree-filled stone planters shadowed the alley from view of most of the street. Two people escorting a lone wizard into the opening would hardly be noticed. The businesses abutting the alley were hardly suspicious. One was a clothing boutique that catered to wizarding babies and children. The other belonged to an ancient wizard carpenter who specialized in wand cases and holders.

No one had any recollection at all of seeing anything unusual, nor did the nearby shopkeepers and clerks recall noticing Malfoy. They remembered him at Foretescue's, however, where he had purchased a two-pound block of almond fudge and drank two cups of strong tea.

"Some don't like 'im on account o' 'is da' was one o' them Death Eaters," the young clerk told him conspiratorially. She winked at him and snapped her gum loudly. "I don't care if 'is da's in Azkaban, that Draco is gorgeous! Didja see 'im? Them eyes… Cor, to die for!"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to disguise his annoyance. He was suddenly glad Malfoy was in self-imposed exile, if only to prevent barely literate ice cream peddlers from ogling him.

"Yeah, 'e come in fer the usual. Ate sittin' over there in that chair and drank two cups o' tea. Earl Grey, black wi' triple sugar. In the summer 'e gets star fruit ices ta go wi' the fudge. Ain't that fancy?"

Harry managed not to snort, but the girl paid no attention, staring dreamily at the chair Malfoy had previously occupied, lost in her fantasy world. Harry purchased a block of fudge and left. This part of the investigation was almost guaranteed to be a waste of time. If anyone had noticed Malfoy's kidnapping, an alarm would have been sounded at the time. It was possible that someone _had_ noticed and said nothing, due to Malfoy's infamy as the son of a Death Eater.

Harry gladly left Diagon Alley behind. It had not taken long before a small crowd had appeared and dogged his footsteps, begging for autographs and photos. Sometimes being famous made his job as an Auror almost impossible. He Apparated to the Ministry and locked himself in his office, ostensibly to catch up on paperwork, but in reality to wait for Hermione's lunch break. Boredom drove him to actually do some of his paperwork and he was somewhat surprised when Hermione stuck her head in the door.

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "You ready? I'll have to cut it a bit short today—do you have any food at home?"

Harry nodded, although he knew his idea of _food_ and hers were probably kilometres apart. He did want to talk to her privately, though, which left out just about everywhere in London except her flat and number 12, Grimmauld Place.

She wrinkled her nose when they appeared in the gloomy kitchen. "How can you stand to live in this revolting place, Harry?"

"Harry Potter is liking his home just fine!" Kreacher snapped from the pantry.

Hermione flushed. "I'm sorry, Kreacher. I didn't mean anything by it."

The house-elf glared at her and deliberately turned his back, muttering under his breath. Harry suspected his quiet diatribe involved the words _Mudblood_ and _not-fit-to-lick-Master's-shoes_, but Kreacher had finally learned not to speak such things aloud in Harry's hearing. "Master Harry is wanting lunch?"

"Yes, Kreacher. And Hermione is wanting lunch, as well."

Kreacher stared balefully at her and shuffled off to the pantry. She watched him distastefully.

"I think I'll wait to eat until I get back to work. I always expect him to poison me," she said.

"He wouldn't dare," Harry assured her and pulled out a chair for her.

"Well, perhaps not. But he probably wouldn't restrain himself from spitting on my food."

Hermione had finally stopped hinting that Harry free Kreacher. It was more than likely the slightly unhinged elf would see it as betrayal of the worst sort. He had been almost tolerable since deciding that Harry was an acceptable master, but his courtesy seldom extended itself to Harry's friends and guests.

Kreacher brought a plate piled high with a variety of Harry's favourite sandwiches and slammed a pot of tea on the table near the plate before disappearing with a huff directed at Hermione. She examined the sandwich contents carefully, but appeared to deem them safe since they were on the same plate with Harry's lunch.

Harry explained Malfoy's malady to Hermione as they ate.

"Wings?" she repeated. "He has _wings_? Like a bird?"

Harry nodded and wished he could convey the sheer brilliance of them, but words would not do them justice. He explained everything he could remember, except the part about Harry's overwhelming need to touch Malfoy's feathers, of course.

She insisted they eat quickly and made a detour to her flat. The instant they Apparated inside, she dragged him to her "library" which was actually her small guest room. Every visible bit of wall space was covered by bookshelves. Those had overflowed with books, so she had stacked the excess on the floor. Now only a small path led through the book forest to the bed.

Harry lurked in the doorway rather than get lost or, even more frightening, knock over a stack. He feared it would start a chain reaction that would demolish the entire flat. Hermione bravely forged ahead and disappeared from sight. Her voice carried back to him.

"So, you don't think he's a Veela?" she asked.

"No. From what I recall, the primary Veela trait is their somewhat… aggressive mating instinct. Also, their wings disappear completely whenever they choose. Malfoy's are permanent." Harry tried not to think too hard about Malfoy in association with the words _mating instinct_, except for a brief fantasy that Malfoy really was a Veela and would pounce on him in an amorous frenzy… Harry wrestled that thought down, clapped it in irons and threw it into a bottomless pit.

"…not very many winged creatures, even in mythology," Hermione was saying. "I can hardly fathom a _potion_ that could induce such a transformation."

"Exactly," Harry said, snatching on a topic that would hopefully stop him thinking about winged Malfoys. "No way something like that could be developed overnight. It would take years, don't you think?"

"Decades, more likely. I wonder if Draco was the primary target? Perhaps someone has a vendetta against the Malfoys in general? Maybe the potion was meant for Lucius, who actually lucked out by being locked away in Azkaban?"

"I'm sort of hoping the Malfoys were the intended victims," Harry admitted. "Rather than a plot against purebloods. If any other pureblood wizards turn up with wings, Kingsley will have my arse. Most wizarding families would already have sent Howlers to the Ministry demanding action, so I don't think that has happened yet."

Hermione appeared again with an armload of huge books. Harry took several to lighten her load.

"Does Lucius know?" she asked.

Harry sucked in a breath. He had not thought to ask.

"I'll wager not," Harry replied quietly. "Malfoy—Draco—is most likely hoping to be rid of his affliction long before his father is released."

"Lucius has less than two years left to serve."

"Don't remind me," Harry said with a shudder. He knew there was some good in the man, judging by his behaviour during the Battle of Hogwarts, but not enough to tip the scales to Harry's favour any time soon.

Hermione plopped herself in her favourite spot, cross-legged on a thick rug in front of the fire, and eagerly opened a book. Harry set the others within her reach.

"I think I'll… um…"

She waved him away. "Yes, yes, you're wretched at research. Run along and avoid it."

Harry flushed guiltily. "Look, can you also check at the Ministry for anyone that might have been under suspicion for brewing potions like the one used on Malfoy?"

"Hmmm, yes. In fact, I'll check for anyone at all capable of such a feat. Their skill would have to be considerable. It's too bad Snape is gone. He probably could have given us a list off the top of his head."

"Dumbledore, also. In fact, it might be worth a trip to Hogwarts to ask Dumbledore's portrait. Questioning Professor McGonagall might be helpful, as well." A portrait of Snape would have been advantageous, but as far as Harry knew such a thing did not exist. Even photos of Snape were hard to locate.

Hermione nodded absently and Harry grinned. She was already immersed in print.

"How about if I take you to dinner tonight? As thanks for always being there for me?"

That dragged her eyes away from the book. She blushed slightly, but giggled when she replied, "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were asking me on a date."

Harry scowled. "What do you mean if you didn't know me better? Maybe I _am_ asking you on a date."

"Harry James Potter, try to remember who you are talking to. Remember when we went to that Muggle café in Dover last month?"

Harry gaped at her. She had been the one to drag him sightseeing around Britain for a weekend "to have a change of scenery" and recover from yet another angry row with Ron Weasley. "You noticed that?" he asked lamely.

"_Noticed_? I thought I might have to take out my wand and Levitate your tongue back into your head. Mind you, he _was_ gorgeous."

Harry remembered the man with a flash of embarrassment. He had walked through the café like a blond dream, turning nearly every head in the place. Harry had thought his heart might crack when the bloke had seated himself across from a stunning brunette woman, ignoring the heartbroken debris around him. Now that Harry thought about it, the man in Dover had borne a rather startling resemblance to Draco Malfoy. Except that Malfoy was even more handsome…

"To be honest, I sort of suspected before that," Hermione said. "You spent quite a lot of time admiring Bill Weasley during Order meetings."

"I was admiring his earring!"

"And his cheekbones and his dreamy eyes, and that long ginger hair that begged to be freed from his ponytail…"

Harry laughed. "Apparently I wasn't the only one! Surely we don't have the same taste…?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not quite. Blonds are not my thing and I don't think you were ever attracted to Ron…?"

"Thank Merlin, no! He would have had kittens if he knew I was sizing up his brothers, let alone him! I never thought of Ron that way and he was always interested in you."

She ignored that. Her relationship with Ron was not up for discussion these days. Instead she asked archly, "Brothers, plural?"

Harry flushed. "Don't tell me you never fantasized about the Weasley twins."

"Only if they were bound and gagged," she said.

"Hermione!"

She laughed. "Not for that! Only to shut them up and keep them from pulling pranks! Can you imagine?" She sobered. "I mean, before Fred…"

Harry's amusement fled. It seemed any mention of the Weasleys these days led to pain. Between Fred, Ron, and Harry's break-up with Ginny, there were simply no safe subjects.

"Yes, I'll have dinner with you tonight, Harry."

He smiled at her gratefully. She was the only thing in his life that ever remained steadfast and constant. He counted on that more than she would ever know.

~~ O ~~

Draco sat back and flexed his wings as he stretched. He had been perusing old issues of the _Daily Prophet_ for hours. Some of the articles had been enlightening, to say the least. Potter had been a busy boy in the past five years. _Highly decorated. Well on his way to becoming Head Auror_. Champion of Justice and Defender of the Weak, and all of that tripe. Draco barely glanced at those stories. Front Page Potter was seldom interesting. The smaller articles, those were the real gems. Such as the one detailing an accident that had led to Ron Weasley's permanent disability. A fall during his first month as an Auror, and Potter unable to save him. Incurable.

Draco would bet Potter carried around a cauldron or two of guilt over that one. He filed the knowledge away for future torment and absently wondered what had become of Potter's best mate. Likely the Auror had taken in the ginger prat and spent all of his free time waiting on the Weasel hand and foot. That image made Draco wonder where Potter lived. _An undisclosed London location_ was the only information provided by the paper. And there was nothing at all written about a Potter wedding, or even an engagement. Curious. If Potter had married the Weaselette, the wizarding world knew nothing about it.

A house-elf popped in to warn Draco that his mother was wandering in his section of the Manor. Draco took the cue to escape. Breakfast tested the limits of his patience with her; she only had one topic of conversation—how to find a way to reverse the potion before Lucius found out.

Draco fled the library and went to his new favourite haunt—the roof. An attic window opened onto the snow-capped slope and Draco stepped through it. His bare feet sank into the white powder and he used his wings for balance as he walked along the peak.

When he reached the edge, he crouched and looked over the Malfoy Estate, even though the visibility was limited in the thick snowfall. The silence was immense and the grounds looked pristine and somewhat surreal. The afternoon light was muted to the point of near-darkness. Draco's breath made clouds with each exhalation.

He lifted a handful of snow and watched it melt in his hand. It was strange to feel no cold—he might have held a handful of sand. Shaking off the droplets of water, he overbalanced and nearly topped off the roof. His wings caught him, of course, and as they swirled the snow he gave in to a sudden impulse. With a quick motion, Draco shot skyward.

He had almost forgotten how much fun it was to fly. Cutting through the air on a broom was wonderful, but this… well, it was something special. Draco's wings pulled at the air and carried him upward until the Manor was lost in snow and mist. He was blind when he entered the clouds, but did not pause until he erupted through the haze and emerged into the sun.

He stopped, wings flapping lazily and shaking off jewels of water with each stroke. The sun edged the white tufts of cloud with gold and the vista stretched as far as he could see, like a gossamer ocean. Draco was sure it was even more frigid at this altitude, but it looked warmer. Even though he could no longer feel it, he was suddenly tired of winter.

When the view palled, he sank back down through the clouds and wondered what would happen if he kept his wings drawn close. He would drop like a stone, of course, and make Ron Weasley's fall seem like a playground stumble. It was tempting for a moment. He would no longer have to deal with his mother's weeping; he would no longer be trapped in the Manor; he would no longer fret about his father's reaction. He would be free from worry. And everything else.

Strangely, it was the thought of Potter that stopped him. Potter had agreed to help him. Potter had not looked at him with pity. Draco spread his wings and slowed his descent with the wry acknowledgement that everything in his life came back to Potter, eventually.

~~ O ~~

Harry could not think of a decent excuse to see Malfoy for the next three days. Diagon Alley had been a dead end. Harry searched diligently for the well where Malfoy had been incarcerated and managed to locate it with the directions the blond had provided. It lay in the midst of an overgrown field, nearly invisible among the brambles. Snowfall had apparently been nonexistent in this area, although it was still bitterly cold.

Harry was wary of entering the well, fearing some sort of trap, but a variety of Detection Spells revealed no danger. He mounted his broom and dropped carefully into the darkness.

The place was frightening, even with Harry's brightly lit wand dispelling the gloom. He could only imagine how terrifying it would have been with no light and no protection from the elements. Harry felt an unwelcome flare of pity for Malfoy and realized his feelings for the git were shifting into dangerous territory. It was bad enough to feel attraction—he could ignore that, at least—but to start thinking of Malfoy as someone important… It was a sobering thought. People important to Harry had a tendency to end up either dead, maimed, or hurting Harry very badly. Malfoy had more reason than most to want to hurt him. He would gladly take whatever kindness Harry handed him and tap dance on it with steel-shod boots until it was dust. To think of Malfoy as anything other than a case victim was taboo. Harry nodded emphatically to himself and departed the well. He wondered where the second potion vial had gone. Malfoy had said he had left it behind. Perhaps the kidnappers had returned to check on their prey and removed it.

A ramshackle hut stood nearby, although "stood" was not quite accurate. The place leaned almost to the ground and the roof had caved in from the weight of the moss thereon. It had apparently been abandoned around the time of Charlemagne, if looks were anything to go by. The door was long gone and Harry's quick glance through the entryway revealed nothing but shade-loving weeds. Any clue to prior ownership had long been swallowed by the elements.

Harry took to his broom again. He made a note of the location on an aerial map while keeping his eyes peeled for Muggle aeroplanes. Hopefully he and Hermione could determine who owned the land. Malfoy's kidnappers had been smart so far, but sooner or later they would make a mistake. The criminal-minded always did.

Harry flew directly to Hermione's flat to give her the map, although he would send a second copy through regular Auror channels. She typically found things faster than the Ministry bureaucracy. The fact that it was nearing lunchtime and he was starving had little to do with his decision to visit her. Well, maybe something to do with it. When he walked in, her eyes were bright with the glow of research gone right. "I think I know what Malfoy is!" she said. "But I would like to see him before I confirm my theory. Do you think he will allow it?"

~~O~~

Draco decided to confess to Gregory Goyle. After hearing from Potter only through owl post for three days, he was nearly mad for human conversation. His mother had closeted herself away in his father's study. On one hand, Draco was grateful, but the silence was getting to him. He contacted Greg through the Floo Network.

"Draco. I thought you were avoiding me," Greg said guardedly through the flames.

"Well, yes. I was, but I had a good reason," Draco admitted. "Something has happened." Greg waited patiently and Draco finally sighed. "Perhaps it will be better if I just show you. Come on through."

Draco stepped away from the fireplace and a moment later Greg walked out of the flames, batting at the Floo residue. "Bloody hell, I should have just—" His words trailed off as his jaw gaped away at the sight of Draco, who shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Bloody hell!" The words were a whisper. After a moment, his lips split into a grin. "I get it! A masquerade! Who's havin' a party? Is it Zabini? Damn him for not invitin' me again."

"Greg, this is not a costume. This is real. Some fucking bastards kidnapped me and turned me into…" Draco grabbed a wing and lifted it slightly, "…whatever this is. Apparently it's permanent."

Greg walked forward and gaped at him in horror. The reaction was not unexpected, but Draco mentally winced when he compared it to Potter's.

"You're jokin'?"

"I am not joking," Draco snapped. "I am not even a bloody human being any longer, which is why I have hidden myself away like some sort of freak."

"Do your parents know?" he whispered.

"No. Well, Mother does, of course, but no, not Father. This would probably kill him on top of Azkaban."

Greg nodded solemnly. Draco sighed.

"Look, Greg, I'm not exactly acceptable company in Slytherin circles any longer. Hell, I'm not acceptable company in _any_ circles, unless you count a bloody nonhuman convention, so if you choose to have nothing more to do with me, I will understand."

Greg said nothing as his eyes tracked over Draco's wings. His gaze had never quite moved away from the feathers, yet another contrast to Potter, who had seemed to spend far more time sizing up Draco as a whole.

"You said someone did this to you? Can't the Ministry track them down and make them pay? Who was it?"

"I don't know. Mother convinced the Ministry to assign Potter to the case…"

"Potter?" Greg's voice was scoffing derision. "Can't they get someone else? Wouldn't surprise me if he was the one that did this to you."

Draco drew a shocked breath. Oddly, the thought had never occurred to him. Why hadn't it? When Draco had listed his enemies, Potter should have been at the top of the list. He had plenty of reasons to hate Draco, after all. He remembered Potter's touch on his arm and the look of concern in his green eyes. No, like most Gryffindors, Potter was incapable of dissembling. Draco had to trust him. He had little choice, after all. Who else would help him?

And to be brutally honest, Draco didn't think Potter had ever cared enough about him to consider him worthy of such extreme revenge. He shrugged. "I have to count on his need to maintain his perfect Auror record."

"Who do you think did it, then?" Greg asked. "If not Potter and his lot?"

"I don't know. I made a list. A long list. I was not the most popular person, you know."

Greg scoffed. "'Course you were. Are," he amended and flicked a look at Draco's wings before fixing his gaze on the sideboard. Draco took it to mean Greg wanted a drink and quickly prepared one for his friend. It was useless to concoct one for himself. He seemed to be immune to cold _and_ the effects of alcohol.

"No, Greg, I think I was envied. That is a far different thing from being admired and nearly the opposite of being liked."

"I didn't know you cared about being liked."

"Neither did I. Actually, I don't think I did until it no longer became an option." He smiled wryly and handed the glass of Firewhiskey to Greg. His friend gulped the drink. An owl swooped in through the door and landed on the perch in the corner. Draco did not recognize it. The creature was sooty-coloured with a darker head. It hooted softly as Draco went over to detach the message. The owl raised a feathered leg helpfully.

"Potter. He is always the proper Auror now. Requesting an audience," Draco said with a glance at the clock. It was 12:30 and Potter wanted an appointment at 1:00. The note induced a minor burst of panic—not only had Potter asked for a meeting, but he wanted to bring Hermione Granger. _We have information that might be useful_. He kept the alarm from showing on his face; there was no need to agitate Greg.

"Want me to stay?" Greg offered. Draco shook his head.

"No. This is difficult enough without you and Potter coming to blows," Draco said and then chuckled at the idea. Greg joined him in a laugh. Where Potter had grown taller and filled into an attractive, slender package, Greg's bulk had shifted from fat into intimidating muscle. He worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Granger's colleague, Draco supposed, and gave a snort of amusement. Except that Greg worked in Internal Security, keeping the visiting riffraff at bay and escorting out undesirables. Draco would have bet Greg used his muscles more than his wand on a daily basis.

"All right, then. I suppose I'll go," Greg said and set his empty glass on the table. He met Draco's eyes for a moment. "And don't worry, Draco. I'll be here for you even with your…" He jerked a thumb at Draco's wings. Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was grateful to have Greg. Pansy and Blaise were his friends, but he doubted they would be as steadfast in the face of Draco's deformity.

Greg Flooed out and Draco scrawled a quick note to Potter before sending it off with the waiting owl. He was not looking forward to seeing Granger, but if that was the price of seeing Potter again… He scowled at the thought and tried to think of some rational reason for looking forward to the git's visit. It had nothing to due with Potter's fitness. _Nothing_. Draco was merely hoping for some news about the case. He sighed with relief at locating a valid reason and went to change.

~~ O ~~

Harry took a deep breath and smiled at Hermione.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded and handed him the box of Floo Powder. He took a handful and sent himself to Malfoy Manor. Hermione stepped into the Malfoy library behind him. There was no sign of the blond, but a house-elf dressed in what looked like a scrap of tasselled curtain stepped forward to meet them.

Hermione glared at Harry. "He did that on purpose! He knows how I feel about house-elves!"

"Just try not to provoke him," Harry said.

"Provoke him? This is practically a declaration of war!" she hissed.

"Please to be coming this way," the house-elf said while eyeing them distastefully. "Master Draco is being in the Viridian Drawing Room. Master Draco's guests is expected not to be touching anything."

Harry nudged Hermione with an elbow as the house-elf sniffed at them and turned away, imperiously leading them toward the door.

"We're not to be touching anything," Harry whispered. "I wonder if that includes Master Draco?"

"Harry!" She gasped in surprise and then giggled. The house-elf stopped and fixed them both with a steely glare until they assumed appropriately sober expressions. After that, they said nothing as they wound their way through several long hallways and up a flight of stairs. Harry grinned at the excessively long route—he knew Malfoy meant to impress Hermione with the size and wealth of the Manor. The intention backfired.

"It's obscene to have this much space for one family," she muttered. "It's like a bloody palace."

Harry nodded, but it made him curiously sad to think of only Malfoy and his mother living in the huge, empty house. It seemed dreadfully lonely.

The house-elf stopped before a large wooden door and opened it to admit them. Malfoy stood in the centre of the room. He looked perfectly calm and almost regal. Harry was surprised to find him fully dressed. The Slytherin wore a long-sleeved shirt of purest white, possibly hoping to diminish the shocking effect of the wings. His trousers were black, as were his shoes. Harry sort of missed the barefoot effect. For some reason, it had made Malfoy seem softer, more… human.

Then again, it was probably not the best idea to think of Malfoy as anything other than an unapproachable ice-prince.

Malfoy and Hermione faced off.

"Granger," he said.

"Malfoy," she returned with a polite nod.

"Potter says you insisted on coming to gawk at me," Malfoy continued. Hermione flushed.

"Actually, I think what has been done to you is perfectly dreadful. I plan to do whatever I can to help Harry track down the culprits and bring them to justice." Malfoy seemed nonplussed for a moment, so Hermione went on. "In fact, I think I might have some information for you."

"About the perpetrators?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, not yet. But I think we've determined what you… have become."

"Not a Veela."

"No. Actually, I think you are Anakim."

Malfoy's expression did not change. "I've never heard of it."

Hermione pulled a sheaf of papers from her robes and handed them to Malfoy. "I hadn't, either, which is why I wanted to see you for verification. Harry says you're immune to cold?"

Malfoy studied the parchment and nodded curtly.

"You have increased strength?" Another nod. "What about visions? Any strange dreams or premonitions?"

Malfoy looked at her sharply and shook his head. "No visions," he said curtly. The silver gaze flitted to Harry and away. Hermione shrugged.

"Perhaps the potion was unable to convey the full abilities. And there is no telling how accurate the reports are, anyway. They're ancient. I'm actually shocked the potion worked at all. The changes to your DNA alone had to be astounding, and they would have needed access to cells from an actual Anakim, most likely gathered from a tomb or something. No one has seen a real Anakim in centuries…"

Harry stopped paying attention when she slipped into technospeak, although Malfoy seemed to hang on her every word. She moved closer to the blond and showed him the papers, pointing out charts, drawings, and incomprehensible data that made little sense to Harry. He walked to a window seat and parked himself to look through the glass. It was snowing again, but the flakes were tiny and sporadic. He hoped the sun would show itself soon. The perpetual clouds were depressing.

Harry turned his attention from the cold landscape back to Malfoy. Hermione had spread the parchment across a nearby table. She and Malfoy were immersed in complex potions theory. Harry smiled, thinking that bringing Hermione to Malfoy may have been the best thing for him. The despair that seemed to hover over the blond like a pall had faded.

Harry allowed his eyes to travel over the wings and then the rest of Malfoy. It really wasn't fair that his nemesis had grown into someone so incredibly gorgeous. Bloody hell, but Malfoy had nice legs. And that arse… Harry envisioned himself cupping Malfoy's arse in his hands and leaning into the muscular back to breathe in the scent of his hair… followed by nuzzling his face into those soft wings—

"…don't you think so, Harry?"

Harry's eyes flew to Hermione's with a start and his cheeks burned.

"Sorry, I was… distracted."

Hermione smirked and glanced at Malfoy. "So I see. As I was saying, we might find more information at Hogwarts. You are still planning to go, correct?"

Harry nodded and refused to look at Malfoy. He hoped the damned blush was fading. Thank goodness Hermione already knew about his "thing for blonds". "I'm going tomorrow. I wanted to wait until the weekend, since classes are still in session." He also hoped his presence would cause less of a disruption on a Saturday. Though it had been five years since the war, Harry still had a tendency to draw a crowd whenever he appeared in public.

"I would let you search the library here, but I'm afraid my mother has taken it over," Malfoy said dryly. "She's determined to find an antidote or a way of reversing the process."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not certain that's possible," she said bluntly. Harry winced. "The changes were far too drastic. Attempting to alter you back could very well kill you; and that is _only_ if we manage to find, or reproduce, the potion itself. The sample in the vial you gave to Harry was too small an amount for accurate analysis."

"Hermione," Harry said warningly with his eyes on Malfoy. He knew how close the blond had come to choosing death over his current state. It had been written in his every gesture at their first meeting. If Malfoy thought there was no hope of ever returning to normal…

Malfoy's grey eyes held his. "You prefer she sugar coat the truth, Potter? Give me some false hope?"

Harry glared. "How do you know it's false? Everything we're doing is just speculation at this point! To suggest we might never be able to… Well, we simply don't know, do we?"

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "I'm only trying to prepare him for the worst, Harry. The odds are stacked against us, after all."

He suddenly changed his mind about Hermione being a good influence on Malfoy. What if she drove Malfoy into despondency and he tried to kill himself or something? Harry had no way of preventing that unless he monitored the Slytherin at all times—something he knew Malfoy would never allow.

"Why did I even bring you here?" Harry snapped in frustration.

"To provide a contrast to your blind idealism?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry turned his glare on the blond. "Fine, you two can wallow in the pointlessness of it all. I'm going to find the fucking responsible party no matter what it takes." Harry threw himself from the seat started for the door. "Owl me if you find anything remotely important." Harry went out and slammed the door behind him, ignoring Hermione's plea to wait. He was glad Malfoy Manor was solidly built—the portal banged with a satisfying sound that reverberated through the empty hallway, trailing echoes. It also drew the attention of three agitated house-elves who popped up next to Harry.

"Never mind," he snarled before they could chastise him. "Just show me the nearest way out."

Within minutes, Harry lay on his bed at number 12, Grimmauld Place, stewing. He wondered if leaving Hermione with Malfoy had been the smartest thing to do, but then decided she deserved it.

~~ O ~~

Granger looked at Malfoy guilelessly when the echoes from the slamming door faded away.

"I think I've upset him," she said blandly.

Draco tracked back over their conversation, mystified. What had provoked Potter's outburst? Was he really that determined to find a cure? _Why?_ He looked at Granger speculatively and wondered if she would tell him. She was already back on track.

"As I was saying, Anakim were thought to be mythological, even in wizarding lore. Some scholars believe they were the ancestors of the Veela, which I find quite plausible, actually. Muggle holy books refer to them as a race of giants, descended from the Nephilim—do you recognize that name?"

"Fallen angels," Draco replied, suddenly feeling he was back in school, even though Granger was not acting like an overweening know-it-all. She was actually treating Draco like a human being, probably because he no longer was. Granger had likely placed him in the same category as house-elves and centaurs.

"Exactly. The Nephilim mated with humans to produce the Anakim. Some accounts claim the Anakim were winged, others state they were a race of giants, or perhaps both. Either way, they disappeared from most history books and no one really knows what became of them. It's likely they retreated when the Muggle races became more prevalent and eventually evolved into different species, such as the Veela."

"So you believe I am some sort of throwback to an ancient, extinct race?"

She nodded. "How it was done is the question. I've been looking for anyone with the skill to produce such an intricate and powerful potion. Frankly, there aren't many people with that kind of ability. I gave a list to Harry, but he drew blanks on them all. Do you know of anyone who might fit that profile? A colleague of Snape's perhaps?"

Draco shook his head. "I was never taken into Snape's confidence. He saved my life after the incident with Dumbledore on the tower, but we were not exactly chums. He delivered me back to my parents and went about his own business. I gave Potter a list of people with possible motives and it included those with potential skill. Even more likely, I added those with the means to _purchase_ such ability."

She gasped. "I never thought of that! Damn, that opens the field, doesn't it? They could have purchased the potion from anywhere in the world." Granger looked crestfallen. "Bloody hell, now I'll have to widen the search to include global parameters."

"Why are you helping me?" he asked suddenly.

She gave him a curious look and shrugged. "You know us Gryffindors. We live to right wrongs and all that," she said lightly.

"That sounds like something Potter would say. What is the real reason?"

"Well, I _do_ work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you know. It's sort of my job."

"Then you are here only in an official capacity?"

She shook her head and smiled. "No. I'm here because Harry asked for my help. His reasons for taking up your cause are his own."

"What about the Weasel? Are you two going to bring him along? I thought you three did everything together."

Astonishingly, Granger's face closed up tighter than a clam in fresh water. She clutched her robes together in tense fists. "I should go. The sooner I get started researching this, the better. I'll check the International Archives first." Draco blinked at the sudden change and wondered what he had said. Granger hurried to the door and then paused. "By the way, Malfoy, if it's any consolation, the Anakim were revered as gods. And you know what else? Harry was right." She chuckled before shutting the door with a soft click.

_Right about what?_

~TBC~_  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Was someone complaining about short chapters? *giggles*

**Chapter Five**

_It is often safer to be in chains than to be free._

_- Franz Kafka_

Harry brooded on his bed for only a few minutes before persistent tapping on his window drew his attention. He swore loudly and grumbled as he got to his feet. "This day is getting better and better." It was Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl. Harry was somewhat surprised by the sedate pecking—normally the damned thing threw itself repeatedly against the glass like a deranged hummingbird. He wondered if Ron had taken to exchanging Pig's water with Calming Draught.

Harry let the owl inside and managed to detach the message from its leg with some difficulty as Pig started sailing around the room like a spastic top the instant Harry let him inside. Apparently he had merely needed to rest on the windowsill for seventeen seconds. Harry unrolled the parchment carefully, half expecting it to explode in his face. He never knew quite what to expect from Ron these days. The message was surprisingly friendly.

_Harry, I've been a complete arse and would like to make it up to you. Meet me in Byrne's Park. I promise not to behave like a total prat. I'm bringing Ginny with me and she has agreed to hex me if I start to act inappropriately. Ron_

Harry sighed, but he could not contain the flare of hope that surged through him at the thought of reconciliation. He had insisted for so long that Ron would snap out of it and go back to being his normal self, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hermione had refused to hear it. Harry had been fooled a few times by Ron's behaviour. On rare occasions he had managed to act like the Ron of old, but it seldom lasted. This was the first time he had requested to meet Harry away from the Burrow. Harry thought it might be the first time Ron had _left_ the Burrow. He decided it was a positive development.

He quickly changed into street clothes, since the robes he had donned to visit Malfoy were a bit formal, as well as inappropriate for the weather. He sent a quick owl to Hermione and wondered how long she could remain at Malfoy Manor without wanting to murder Draco. Deciding Malfoy's safety wasn't his problem, he Apparated to Byrne's Park, vaguely recalling it from a case he had worked some months ago.

Harry meandered around for a bit—the park was not huge, but it had several concealing stands of snow-dusted shrubs and hedges. After a few minutes, he spotted Ron sitting on a bench next to Ginny. Ron threw conjured bits of bread to the ducks that splashed in the nearby pond. He smiled broadly when he saw Harry.

"Oi, mate!" he called and lifted a hand.

Harry grinned and hurried over to take his hand in a joyous grip. "Ron, it's good to see you…" He nearly added "out of doors" but managed to choke it back, unsure if Ron would appreciate the reminder of his self-imposed exile now that he had finally emerged.

"Huh, surprised you can say that after how I treated you at our last get-together. I acted like a right arse. Sometimes I don't know what comes over me."

"Well, you were pretty drunk," Harry said lamely.

"Yeah, but that's no excuse, eh?" Ron said quietly.

Harry shrugged, unwilling to get into a blame game. Ginny smiled at him as he sat down next to Ron. The sun was low on the horizon, sliding beneath the dark clouds for a few moments prior to its disappearance for the night. It was nearly too cold to sit—one of them had apparently cast a Warming Charm on the bench, which helped. Harry wished he had worn gloves.

Ginny stood up. "Harry, will you walk with me? I want to talk to you."

"Going to talk about me behind my back?" Ron asked with just a hint of his usual bitterness.

"Not everything is about _you_, Ronald," Ginny snapped.

Ron flushed. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

She stalked away a few paces and Harry gave Ron an apologetic look before he got to his feet and followed. She walked until they were out of earshot and then grinned at him ruefully. "Actually, it is about Ron."

Harry chuckled. "All right. How did you manage to coax him out of the house? He's been locked away for months."

"It was mum. She's driving him batty. Frankly, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. Her constant fussing is getting to him, which is a good thing, in my opinion. I'm glad he finally chose to come outside."

"Maybe he's beginning to heal?" Harry asked hopefully. "Mentally, I mean."

She nodded and shot a glance back at her brother, who threw bread to the ducks listlessly. He looked very small and alone. Harry's heart ached for a moment, knowing it was not supposed to be this way. Ron was supposed to have been his partner in the Auror Division. They were supposed to battle evil together and go to pubs after work. They were supposed to share stories and complain about bosses and bureaucracy.

"I wish things were different," Harry said.

"So do I," Ginny replied and Harry knew she was no longer talking about Ron.

Harry flushed. "Look, Gin, we've been over this before…"

"I know, Harry, and I know I said I wouldn't bring it up again, but I feel like you never really gave us a chance. I thought we were doing fine until this thing with Ron happened. I thought seeing me reminded you of Ron and how guilty you felt, but you can see for yourself that Ron is healing now. I want to know if you think there is a chance for us to heal, also. Can't you give us one more go? At least try? Don't you think you owe me that much?"

Harry felt his jaw clench. Truthfully, his feelings for Ginny had little to do with Ron's accident. Harry had begun to withdraw from her before the incident with Ron, although the accident had caused such a rift in all of their relationships it was understandable for her to lay the blame there. It was not just Ron that had been broken in the accident; their entire foursome had been completely sundered. Not only had Ron and Harry been torn apart, but also Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny, and finally Ginny's friendship with Hermione. It seemed they had all chosen sides, whether consciously or unconsciously.

Put on the spot by her earnest brown eyes, he felt the words choke up inside him. He hated to get into it with her now, of all times, when they should be concentrating on Ron. Harry pasted a smile on his face.

"I'll think about it, Gin," he allowed.

Her eyes flashed slightly and he tensed for the expected anger to emerge, but she surprised him with a smile he knew was forced. "All right, Harry. I don't mean to push you. You already know how I feel."

He nodded, relieved to have avoided a confrontation. She threw her arms around his neck suddenly and pressed a kiss against his lips. He hugged her awkwardly and wondered where his feelings had gone. He had loved her once, hadn't he? Now he felt nothing but a brotherly sort of affection.

"Come on, let's get back to Ron before he starts to feel neglected," he said. She sighed and stepped away before they retraced their steps. The path had been mostly cleared of snow, but a sheen of ice made walking hazardous. Ginny's foot slipped and she grabbed Harry's arm. He steadied her carefully and she kept her hand on his arm as they returned to Ron. The park was in a wizarding neighborhood, but it was not popular enough to warrant year-round Heating Charms to keep the paths ice-free.

Ron grinned at Harry. "You two getting back together?" he asked, eyeing Ginny's grip on Harry.

"He's going to _think_ about it," Ginny said in a tone that carried a hint of accusation.

Ron guffawed. "Oh, come on, mate, what's to think about? It's obvious she still has the hots for you."

Harry scowled. "I have no intention of discussing my love life while freezing my arse off. What possessed you to choose this place, anyway? Why not a heated building with a nice, crackling fire and warmed butterbeer?"

"I needed some fresh air," Ron admitted. "Been cooped up too long. Mum is probably going spare looking for me. I wanted to go somewhere she wouldn't find me all that soon. She acts like I'm five years old again."

"You didn't tell her you were leaving?" Harry asked and then gave a low whistle. "You're brave, mate. You know she worries too much." He wouldn't want to be in Ron's shoes when Molly Weasley caught up with him.

"Yeah, it's okay sometimes, but other times…"

Harry chuckled. "I remember. Did you at least leave her a note?"

"Of course. I told her I was going somewhere Muggle so she wouldn't send me a Patronus. That was Gin's idea."

Ginny smiled and clutched Harry's arm tighter. "I'm with Harry on finding somewhere warm. We could go to my place?"

"Won't mum have it staked out?" Ron asked dubiously.

"Naturally, but she'll have looked there first, yeah? It should be safe now."

Ron looked at Harry owlishly. "She could have been in Slytherin, mate."

Harry grinned and nodded, but it was one of the reasons he had finally broken it off with Ginny. Her unexpected deviousness had reared its head a time or two. Harry had discovered he hated to be manipulated. The memory caused him to wonder if she had set up this whole meeting just as an excuse to get Harry into her flat, but decided Ron would never go along with it. Unless he didn't know…

"I'm up for it," Ron said. "As long as you have ale."

She made a face. "Don't you think you've had more than enough to drink lately, Ron?"

His face flamed and he scowled at her. "I left the house to get away from mum, remember?"

"Well, excuse me for worrying about you!" she yelled.

"I'll come along, for a bit," Harry said quickly to head off another sibling shouting match. Ginny left off glaring at Ron to smile at him.

"Excellent. I'll let you Side-Along Ronald," she said and Disapparated.

Harry looked at Ron awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. Should he try to stand him up, or Apparate while sitting next to him?

Ron sighed. "She's really irked with you, isn't she?"

"Yeah, still irked," Harry said blandly.

In the end, Harry sat down next to Ron and threw an arm around his shoulders while conjuring an image of the sofa in Ginny's flat, hoping to hell she hadn't moved it since his last visit.

"I'll make us something to eat," Ginny said brightly and traipsed off to the kitchen, which was in sight of the living room. Harry and Ron ended up on the couch just as planned, which had caused Ron to snort in amusement and mutter something about "Super Auror", but Harry did not comment.

Ginny clanked dishes about and Harry was slightly worried, hoping she did not plan to _cook _anything, because the apple had fallen _far_ from the tree when it came to Ginny's cooking skills. Her abilities were nothing like Molly Weasley's. Hopefully she would scrape up sandwiches or pasties, or Harry might be forced to seek out Hermione afterward for a decent meal.

As if picking the name from his thoughts, Ron suddenly asked, "How is Hermione?"

"She's fine," Harry said casually although he tensed inwardly. Hermione was a touchy subject.

"She hasn't answered any of my owls," Ron complained.

"We seem to have a talent for irritating the women in our lives," Harry said lightly.

"Yeah, but Gin's still talking to you."

_Lucky me_, thought Harry dryly. Aloud he said, "Hermione is… well, you know how stubborn she can be."

Ron snorted. "Yeah. Look, can you talk to her or something? At least tell her to read my letters? I'm trying to change. It's just been hard, you know?"

"I know. I promise I'll talk to her. I think she'll be glad you're finally getting out a bit."

Ron's jaw twitched as though he struggled to bite back a comment, but he said nothing for a moment. "What has she been doing? Still working? Where is she today?"

Harry blinked at him and stumbled through an answer. "She's been working a lot, actually. It's pretty much all she does, you know? She loves her job. I'm… ah… not sure where she is right now…" That was true; she _might_ have left Malfoy Manor already. "I haven't talked to her in a while." _A couple of hours or so, at any rate._ Harry tried not to blush at skirting the truth, but Ron would not take kindly to the fact that Hermione was trying to assist Draco Malfoy, of all people.

"Really? I thought you two were still best friends. I sort of figured one of the reasons you dumped Ginny was to…"

Harry gaped at him. "You thought I wanted _Hermione_?"

Ron flushed and combed a hand through his red hair. "Well… maybe it was a stupid thought…"

"You're damn right it was a stupid thought!" Harry said, momentarily forgetting that he had no intention of fighting with Ron again.

"Why? What's wrong with Hermione?" Ron demanded, jumping to her defence.

"Nothing! I just never… thought of her that way."

"Thought of who what way?" Ginny asked as she returned to the room holding a plate piled high with an assortment of meat pies. Her other hand gripped three full mugs of something Harry hoped was ale. He could use a drink, which usually happened when he spoke to Ron these days.

"Harry said he hasn't been pursuing Hermione," Ron said.

"_Hermione_?" Ginny exclaimed and gasped. She stared at Harry as though the thought had never occurred to her. She narrowed her gaze at him, possibly trying to pierce through any façade Harry tried to project. "Well. That's an interesting idea. You certainly have no problem spending time with _her_, do you? Are you certain you've _never_ thought of her that way, Harry?"

Harry's teeth clamped together in annoyance. He had half expected the gathering to turn into a personal attack by one or the other of them, so he was not surprised, but he _was_ disappointed. He got to his feet.

"I appreciate the offer, Gin, but I should probably be going," he said.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Leaving so soon, Harry? It's not like you to run away. Maybe that hit a bit to close to the truth, eh?"

"You know what, Ron? I'm glad you finally left the Burrow. It's about time you stopped hiding away from the world. Maybe next you'll try working on not acting like such a fucking prat all the time." Harry pulled out his wand and looked at Ginny semi-apologetically. "Sorry, Ginny. Thanks for the offer of food, but I'm not that hungry at the moment. I'll talk to you later."

Harry Disapparated, but Ron's final comment echoed in his head as he left.

"Coward!"

~~ O ~~

Harry went home and threw himself into a frenzy of housework. Kreacher followed him around offering helpful tips, but doing little in the way of actually assisting, which suited Harry fine. His agitation often took refuge in manual labour, which Grimmauld Place still sorely needed. Kreacher had become a decent cook, but his cleaning skills were extremely substandard. Harry normally kept only the kitchen, living room, and his own room clean. The rest of the house he saved for days when he needed to work off excess anger.

The study was soon free of dust and the floor gleamed, as did the hallway that led to the stairs. A seldom-used ground floor guest room was given the same treatment—the majority of the debris had been hauled out during the summer of Molly Weasley's reign, but dust still accumulated, as did the old-house smell that Harry could never quite dispel even after dozens of Air-freshening Charms.

Two hours later Harry was tired, hungry, and filthy. He took a scalding shower and felt much better after tossing on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. He dragged a comb through his hair as he examined his pantry. A rather pathetic sight met his eyes and he realized he had not purchased food in a number of days.

Kreacher appeared at Harry's elbow. "Master is wanting dinner?" Kreacher asked and wrung his hands slightly, making Harry wince.

"Apparently Master has not provided you with enough staples to even prepare sandwiches," Harry said dryly. "Did you eat today?"

"Yes, Master. Kreacher has been eating the fine aubergines and cabbages that Master purchased just for Kreacher." The house-elf paused. "Is Master wanting aubergines and cabbages? Kreacher can be making a fine stew for Master Harry's supper. Kreacher is also finding several potatoes and Kreacher can be cutting out the dark spots."

Harry tried not to shudder. He had stocked up heavily on aubergines, cabbage, and winter squash after discovering they were Kreacher's favourite foods, but Harry could not abide them. He was relieved that at least his house-elf had sustenance… of a sort. "No thank you, Kreacher. I wouldn't dream of eating your aubergines and cabbages. I think I'll just nip out and pick something up. I'll be sure to stock the pantry tomorrow so that you will be able to prepare a meal without resorting to cutting out the black spots from the potatoes."

Kreacher looked relieved and he nodded happily. "Master knows best."

"Goodnight, Kreacher," Harry said and Summoned his cloak. Kreacher popped out, but returned a moment later with Harry's socks and boots and helped him put them on. Gloves followed and Harry grinned at the old house-elf before Disapparating to Diagon Alley. He wandered aimlessly for several long minutes, but the thought of braving the crowds to eat in a public place seemed too exhausting to contemplate. He thought about going to see Hermione, but remembered that he was annoyed with her. There was also the fact that he had been eating too many meals at her house lately.

He stopped in front of the public owlery and realized he had simply been making excuses. What he really wanted to do was go and see Malfoy. _Only because I forgot to mention the Glamour Spell_, he rationalized. And he wanted to make sure that both Malfoy and Hermione had survived the afternoon in each other's company. He quickly returned home and Fire-called Malfoy Manor.

Eight minutes later he stepped out of the fire and grinned sheepishly into Malfoy's amused visage.

"Twice in one day, Potter? Don't I feel special?"

Harry snorted. "I doubt that. I just forgot to tell you something when I was here earlier."

"When you stormed off in a childish huff?" Malfoy asked.

Harry almost smiled. The familiarity of Malfoy's sarcasm was like a balm to his wounded soul.

"Yes, well, I simply forgot to mention—"

"That you have a strange fetish for feathers and want to wrap your naked body in my ridiculous wings?"

The statement was so close to the truth that Harry nearly choked. He coughed for a moment or two while he glared at the Slytherin.

"Very funny," Harry snapped and tried to regain his composure. He was somewhat surprised at Malfoy's good mood and wondered if the blond had _ever_ joked with him before. Granted, the jokes were barbed and insulting, but nevertheless… "Look," he continued, "If you don't want to hear it, then I can come back tomorrow. It wasn't important, anyway." He stepped back toward the fireplace and realized it had been a particularly wretched day. Harry thought he should simply go home and go straight to bed. Before he could reach for the jar of Floo Powder, his stomach growled loudly.

~~ O ~~

"When was the last time you ate, Potter?" Draco asked quickly, suddenly almost desperate to keep him from leaving. He wasn't sure why the Auror was here, but he intended to hold on to his company for as long as possible. He forced a sneer into his voice. "Do you even have food in your house?"

"I have food," Potter snapped and Draco shuddered to think what might be considered _food_ in the Potter household. Probably days-old Muggle takeaway. Draco was not quite sure what that was, but he had overheard Hogwarts students discussing it in passing and he knew it had to be foul.

"Stay then," Draco said casually. "It must be terribly important to drag you all the way out here, away from your busy social life."

Potter flushed and for a moment Draco thought he might have gone too far. He was curious, however. Surely the Auror had better things to do? "I insist we eat in the dining room, however. Mother will tear the wings from my back if she finds a crumb on the carpet. Not that that would necessarily be a bad thing."

Potter's hand dropped away from the mantle and he looked at Draco curiously. "Have you considered it?" he asked bluntly. "Having them removed, I mean?"

Draco snorted. "Of course I have. I even considered sawing them off myself. If only I weren't so damned squeamish about excruciating pain."

"But St. Mungo's…"

"Delightful idea, Potter. I'll turn myself over to that lot of anti-Death Eater sentimentalists and ask them to knock me out and remove my new appendages. Oh, and request they don't accidentally kill me in the process." Potter flushed and Draco continued, "Besides, what if I go through all of that and they grow back?"

Potter nodded and Draco made an imperious gesture. He turned, automatically expecting Potter to follow as he went out the door and down the hall. Footsteps behind him divulged that Potter had obediently trailed him instead of fleeing.

When they reached the dining room, Potter's eyes widened and his nose wrinkled slightly. Draco looked around the room, trying to see it through Potter's eyes. The dining room was a cold, austere affair. Draco had never liked eating in here and he felt a moment of uncertainty. Perhaps he should have had their meal brought to the conservatory, instead. He made a mental note to do so next time and then chastised himself for even considering a 'next time.'

Potter dutifully sat down in a hard, high-backed chair. Draco sat across from him, although he perched on a cushioned settee that had been pulled up to the table. He grinned at Potter.

"Chairs interfere with my wings," he explained with a hint of smugness. "I am therefore privileged to sit on a comfortable seat."

"Where can I borrow a pair of those?" Potter asked dryly and then blanched. Draco's jaw tightened slightly. Potter might be a trifle more suave now, but he still had the uncanny ability to say the wrong thing. Draco decided to let the comment go.

"Maybe if you're a good little Auror, I'll let you sit on a pillow next time," he replied tartly. Thankfully, the house-elves chose that moment to appear and place food on the table—enough plates, bowls, and platters to feed a legion.

Potter ate as though it was the first feast he'd had since leaving school. Draco plied the Auror with plenty of expensive red wine. There were questions he wanted to ask the Gryffindor and answers would be more readily forthcoming after a bit of alcoholic inducement. Potter had surprisingly good manners. He used the proper forks for each course and sipped the wine rather than gulping it. Draco wondered where he had learned to eat in a civilized fashion. Granger, probably. The Ministry would not have appreciated their Golden Boy embarrassing them at public functions and important state dinners.

Before the dessert course arrived, Potter swirled the wine in his glass and grinned at him. "I shouldn't be drinking. Technically, I'm here in an official capacity."

"I'll never tell," Draco purred and was surprised when Potter's brows shot upward and disappeared into the thatch of dark hair. Potter did gulp his wine then, and coughed when it went down wrong. _Interesting reaction_, Draco noted and filed it away for later analysis. Surely Potter did not think Draco would tattle on him to the bloody Ministry? Perhaps the hero had simply had too much to drink.

"So, Potter, what important bit of forgetfulness brings you here this evening?"

Potter set the glass down with obvious relief. Before he could speak, the house-elves reappeared with several puddings as well as Potter's favourite: treacle tart. The Auror waited until the house-elves disappeared again before speaking, although he did tuck his fork into the sticky confection.

"It's regarding a variant of a Glamour Charm. I might need your help with the case and I can hardly have that with you closeted in the Manor."

Draco scowled to hide his amazement that the Auror Extraordinaire might actually request his "help". "What variant?"

"Well, a Glamour works only on a small area. The larger the field, the more unstable the spell and the shorter its duration," Potter explained and Draco nodded. He refrained from commenting that he had learned about Glamour Charms in fourth year. Potter asked, "What do you use if you want to obscure a larger area?"

"You use a Disillusionment Charm."

Potter smiled lazily and Draco was almost distracted by the slow curve of the Auror's lips and the brief flash of fine white teeth before the Auror's next question snapped him out of it. "And if you combine them?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"Can you?" Draco asked in surprise.

Potter shrugged. "I've been working on it for a while. I think I've come up with a variant. I've been trying to mimic the effect of my invisibility cloak. You know that Disillusionment Charms are only good on certain minds. If someone expects to be followed, they'll see right through a Disillusionment. Those with resistance to the Imperius Curse can also penetrate one."

"That would be _you_," Draco admitted. Potter was the only person Draco had ever met that could shake an Imperius.

Potter raised a brow at the unintended compliment. Draco looked away.

"Not just me," Potter said modestly and laughed.

They were silent after that, focusing on dessert while watching each other warily. If anyone had told Draco a few weeks ago that he would soon be having a pleasant meal with Harry Potter, he would have laughed himself silly.

When they finished eating, Draco led the way upstairs. He was somewhat hesitant to take Potter to his rooms, but the Auror had already been there on his first visit. Besides, Draco would only allow him to occupy the sitting room. Potter would likely not even know it was part of Draco's private suite.

Potter's eyes flicked to the door leading to Draco's bedroom and he knew the Auror had figured it out. The bastard was smarter than he looked. If Draco was perfectly honest, he really didn't look that bad, either. Draco shied away from the thought immediately.

"So," Potter said brightly and brandished his wand. "Want me to try the spell on you?"

_One glass of wine too many_, Draco decided. "Are you daft? Have you even attempted this spell on another person?"

"Well, only on myself," Potter admitted.

Draco rolled his eyes. Typical Gryffindor. No sense of personal safety. "Therefore you think I will allow you to experiment on me?" he asked. "I'm expendable after all, eh?"

Potter's verdant eyes narrowed. "I've never thought that," he said in a low voice that sounded genuinely angry.

Draco was surprised anew, but snorted. "Never, Potter? Not even in school?"

"I wanted to stop you, especially when I thought you were actively becoming a Death Eater, but I never wanted you dead. I did not even really want you hurt, except for a few times when you provoked me beyond tolerance."

Draco's hand went instinctively to his chest and Potter's eyes widened at the reminder of the _Sectumsempra_ scar, but it was gone now, burned away by the same process that had given Draco his wings.

"It's gone," he said.

"I noticed," Potter replied quietly. "Before."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as Draco contemplated the fact that Potter was far more observant than expected. He also felt a strange sense of loss for the missing scar. It had been the only thing that tied him to Potter, regardless that it had been violently delivered. Draco had often drawn his fingers over the faint line of the scar and thought about the one on Potter's forehead. Foolish as the idea had been, he had felt almost close to the Gryffindor at those times.

Potter looked almost stricken. Draco assumed he was about to spill some Hufflepuffish sentiment when a loud tapping sounded at the glass patio doors. Draco sighed, even though he was somewhat relieved by the distraction.

"Bloody owls. We have an owlery and the house-elves are perfectly adept at retrieving messages and bringing them to me." He dragged back the heavy curtains to reveal a great grey owl. Draco flung open the patio door to admit the bird, which actually waddled into the room after giving him a disdainful look. It was a huge owl with gleaming yellow eyes.

Potter laughed when the owl walked to him and lifted a foot. "Hermione's owl," he explained, though he made no move to retrieve the message. "Erm… do you happen to have any owl treats? She bites."

"Granger's owl bites. Astounding," Draco said dryly. He snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared and then popped out again to seek out a treat for the animal.

"You know," Potter said, "We tried to come up with a spell that would make parchment unnecessary. The message would be carried on the owl's feathers in case of interception. It nearly worked. Hermione came up with a spell that can inscribe words on the feathers. They aren't visible until the proper key is given to unlock the charm."

"Clever," Draco admitted.

"Yeah, except that each feather will only hold about two words. You have to cast the spell a dozen times to inscribe the message, and then when the counterspell is given the words are jumbled. Few of us had the patience to try and put the puzzle together."

"It might be useful for a simple message," Draco said politely and Potter nodded.

"We use it on occasion."

The house-elf returned and Draco tossed a packet of owl nuggets to Potter, who knelt down before the wicked-looking owl.

"Here you go, Curie," he said as he offered a treat to the bird. She snapped at it and Potter yanked his fingers back in the nick of time. He laughed hesitantly and reached down to gingerly to untie the message. Potter kept a close eye on the owl's beak and Draco had a new respect for his bravery. The owl looked like a menace. Potter retreated a few steps in obvious relief when he had the message safely in his hands. "Bloody bird hates me," he muttered and plucked at the red ribbon that bound the parchment.

Draco and the grey owl waited while Potter scanned the message. He grinned at Draco. "Fabulous news! Hermione might have found a lead on the potion! She wants me to come over so she can explain." Potter paused and then asked, "Do you want to come? She's waiting for me at her place."

Draco sneered.

Potter made a clucking sound. "She's already seen you. Come on, it will do you good to have a change of scenery."

"Granger's house is hardly the change I've been looking forward to."

"She's got a perfectly nice house. You'll love it; it's full of books."

Draco's eyes flicked to his own well-stuffed shelves and was surprised to find himself considering the notion. "How would we get there?" he asked uncertainly.

"Floo Network, since you've never been there. Unless you want to Side-along?"

The thought of Potter touching him again made Draco's stomach clench in a not-unpleasant, but distinctly unwelcome way and he shook his head.

"All right, Floo it is. No return message, Curie." Potter tossed the owl another treat and it hooted rather nastily before winging quickly out the door.

"Charming bird," Draco commented and then led Potter back downstairs to the usual fireplace before he had time to change his mind.

~~O~~

Hermione waved them over impatiently and said, "I'm glad you're here, Malfoy. It will save me explaining things twice. Harry, have you been drinking?"

"No. Well, I had some wine with dinner."

"Your cheeks are red," she said blandly and grinned. His eyes narrowed, but she gestured airily toward the kitchen. "You know where the tea is."

Harry muttered and stalked into the kitchen to prepare tea. He heard muted conversation from the other room and wondered where Malfoy would sit—Hermione's furniture was not exactly wing-compatible. When Harry returned with a steaming pot and three cups, he noticed Malfoy seated on the floor. His wings had been drawn in and crossed over each other. The tips rested flat on the floor in pale fans.

Harry joined them after setting the tea on a nearby table. He sat on the floor, also, positioning himself far enough from Malfoy to avoid commentary from Hermione, and yet close enough to reach out and touch the feathers of one snow-white wing if he chose. His fingers itched at the thought and he quickly Summoned a cup of tea to occupy his hands.

Hermione wasted no time. She handed Harry a flat piece of parchment. Malfoy already held one. "I searched the Archives for anything related to wings. Not surprisingly, there wasn't much. This particular article struck me as relevant, which I'm sure you'll agree once you've read it."

Harry skimmed the parchment, which detailed the arrest of a wizard named Gunther Pokeby for experimenting with illegal potions. Apparently the old man was obsessed with creating winged beings similar to Veela, but without the vicious urges. Harry drew in a surprised breath and looked at Hermione.

"Did he succeed?"

She shook her head. "I can't find any reference to his potions actually working. Several were seized by the Ministry and subsequently destroyed, but there is no record of him creating a successful version. In fact, he was arrested and sent to Azkaban after dosing several young wizards with ineffective potions. Three of them perished before he was apprehended."

"Where is he now?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione sighed. "He died in Azkaban eight years ago. He was there for six years before his demise. This is all ancient history." She swept her hands toward the parchment scattered about her. Harry picked up another. It looked to be a copy of a deed.

"Then this is all a dead end?" he asked.

"Not quite. The Ministry seized his property, since he had no heirs. All of his funds were used to make reparations to his victims, but the house was never sold. They always meant to go in and do a more thorough investigation, but then You-Know-Who returned and…"

"So his house has been sitting empty all this time?"

"Yes. I'm sure Kingsley will grant you permission to investigate, if you want to wait that long…"

Harry snorted. "Please, it will take three days just to push through a permit request."

Hermione smiled. "I assumed you would say something like that." She handed him another parchment, this one a map. "I'm sure you can find it. The records say standard Sealing Spells were used, so you should have no problem getting inside."

"They never searched it?"

"A cursory investigation was made during the arrest. They seized what potions were available, but you know how Dark wizards like to hide things. There was no mention made of journals or notes, which struck me as very strange. I think it's worth checking out, if only to see if his property has been disturbed recently. Someone could have gone in and discovered his notes, or possibly even found a potion the Aurors did not know existed."

Harry nodded. "Well, this is definitely our most promising lead, so far. What do you say, Malfoy? Are you up for a little snooping?"

"_Now_?" Malfoy asked.

Harry glanced at the clock. "It's not even 8 o'clock. Still early, unless you need your beauty sleep."

Malfoy made a perturbed noise at that. "I'm certainly not the one in need of beauty sleep, Potter."

"Excellent. Then you'll come." Harry got to his feet, smirking at Malfoy's stymied look as he realized he had just been manipulated. He looked at the map and tried to determine the nearest place to Apparate. "I should be able to take us to this point… It's only a short broom flight from there to Gunther Pokeby's house. We'll have to stop by the house first and pick up brooms…" Harry suddenly looked at Malfoy, who looked at him expressionlessly. He blushed at his faux pas, recalling that Malfoy could apparently fly quite well these days without a broom. "Actually, I'll be right back."

He Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place and grabbed his broom before popping back to Hermione's. "Ready, Malfoy?" he asked.

"No, Potter, I think I'll just—" Malfoy began, but Harry stepped forward and took his arm in a light grip. "See you, Hermione. Thanks!" Before the blond could step away or comment, Harry Disapparated them.

Malfoy jerked away as soon as their feet touched solid ground. Or _relatively_ solid ground, as they were ankle deep in snow. They stood next to a farmhouse that Harry remembered from a case he had worked the previous year. Smoke drifted from the chimney and mingled with the thick snowflakes falling from the clouds. Harry knew there was little chance of the resident farmer braving the weather even if he had heard them Apparate.

"Damn you, Potter! We're not even properly dressed for an outing!"

Harry laughed. "Leave it to you to worry about your attire. If it makes you feel better, I think you look fine."

"That's not what I meant," Malfoy snapped. "Obviously the weather is not going to affect me, but _you_ are going to freeze."

"Worried about me?" Harry teased to cover his shock. The grey eyes glared at him balefully. Harry laughed. "Never mind. I can cast a Warming Charm if I get cold." He cast a quick Visibility Charm on his glasses to repel the snow and then mounted his broom and cocked a brow at the blond. "How fast can you fly, Malfoy?"

With that, Harry pushed off. He heard a low growl behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy lift off with a flick of his wings. Several strong beats later and the blond flew next to him. Harry grinned and leaned low over his broom, urging it to greater speed. It only took a moment for Malfoy to catch him and then he gave Harry a derisive shout and pulled ahead, arms held out in front of himself like a Muggle superhero. Harry admired the slim form winging through the snow. He really was gorgeous, even with the wings; maybe _especially_ with the wings. He threw a grin back at Harry, who struggled to catch up. Malfoy's wings beat slowly—he didn't even seem to be making an effort. Harry put on a burst of speed and pulled level with the blond. Their eyes met and Harry laughed in delight. Bloody hell, but he loved to fly and it was rare that he had a chance to fly at top speed. It was almost like playing Quidditch again, except that Malfoy was smiling, too.

Harry realized his face was burning from the cold and the sting of snow. He pulled out his wand and cast a quick Warming Charm. The motion necessitated he slow down to a near stop and Malfoy paused. He hovered in midair, flapping lazily and looking like an angel that had just descended from the heavens, although he was barely visible in the darkness. Harry cast a Directional Charm to take his mind off the sight. His wand tip was dragged downward and to the left, so he veered away. Malfoy followed, no longer racing.

After a few more minutes of flying through the snow, Harry spotted the outline of a stone house nestled against a rocky cliff. They both dropped without a word and walked through deep snow to the front door. To Harry's practiced eye, the snow surrounding the grounds looked undisturbed, but that did not necessarily mean anything. It could have been covered up or disguised.

The spells surrounding the door were still intact, humming faintly with magic. Harry easily cast the counterspells that dispelled the locks. No alarms sounded, so he reached down and twisted the knob. He stepped inside the dark building with wand held at the ready. All was silent, so Harry cast a quick _Lumos_ to brighten the room. The place was thick with dust, undisturbed for years, apparently. It puffed up around Harry's feet as he walked forward. Some of the furnishings had been overturned, but the room did not look ransacked—more likely it had been knocked about during the arrest or in the subsequent search for evidence. He turned to look at Malfoy, who had entered behind him and now gazed around dubiously. He also held his wand steady, although it looked a bit incongruous with the wings. Malfoy lit his wand to join his light with Harry's and he felt a moment of relief that at least Malfoy's magic appeared to have been unaltered by the spell. Harry rested his broom against the wall.

They separated after exchanging a silent glance and wandered through the small house. It was a single level only, with six large rooms sprawling in a haphazard floor plan. Harry searched the dining room, kitchen, and main room while Malfoy took the two bedrooms and library/office. They met back near the front door after a fruitless search.

"There are no books or papers," Malfoy explained. "They must have been taken by the Ministry."

"This is useless, then," Harry said with an explosive sigh. He was surprisingly disappointed. This entire case had been one dead-end after another. For some reason he genuinely wanted to help Malfoy.

"Not necessarily," the blond said thoughtfully. You're not thinking like a Slytherin, Potter." He snorted a laugh. "Oh yes, that's because you're an idiot Gryffindor."

Harry sneered. "And how is thinking like a Slytherin going to help us now, oh Slithery One?"

"Watch and learn, Potter. Watch and learn." Malfoy wandered through the house again and Harry trailed him. He bit back a snide comment now and again as Malfoy pressed on various bricks in the fireplace, yanked at wall brackets, and rapped on the walls in various places.

Finally he asked, "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Any man crazy enough to test potions on wizards in an attempt to give them _wings_ has to be paranoid, also. There is no way he would have left his notes lying around in the open. I'm looking for secret doors or compartments."

Put that way, it made sense, so Harry joined him, stamping on floorboards and prying at innocuous-looking decorations. They were covered in dust before they had finished poking about half the house. Harry paused once for a brutal sneezing attack that caused Malfoy to conjure a handkerchief and hand it to him. He blew his nose and mumbled thanks through the cloth before Vanishing it. Shortly after that, Malfoy's questing fingers paused on the rough brick of the kitchen wall.

"I think I've found it, Potter," he said.

Harry left the floorboards he had been examining and hurried over.

Malfoy smiled and said, "Ah, he _was_ Slytherin." A tiny snake, nearly invisible to the naked eye, was etched into a corner of one brick. Pressing on it had no effect, nor did casting _Alohomora_.

"He was no Parselmouth, surely?" Harry asked.

"You think you're the only one besides Salazar Slytherin to carry that gift, Potter?" Malfoy asked with a hint of his usual sarcasm.

"And Voldemort," Harry said simply. Malfoy flinched, but Harry continued, "Actually, I meant that the Ministry would have made mention of the fact."

"If they knew. Unless he revealed it, how would anyone know?"

Harry shrugged, unwilling to concede the point. He tried, anyway, using the word _Open_ and all variants he could think of in the serpent tongue. To no avail. Finally he asked, "Are you sure it marks a passageway? Maybe he just felt like decorating a brick."

"Yes, Potter, this dank kitchen corner was so dreary it needed a minute decoration that no one would ever hope to see," Malfoy drawled. Harry remembered why he used to want to hit the blond regularly.

"Any other suggestions, then?" he snapped instead of taking bodily action.

Malfoy sighed. "Perhaps we've been taking this too literally. What have we cast? Open, unlock, push, pull, and slide, correct? How about something less obvious… like _Reveleo_!" He cast the spell and a portion of the brick seemed to shimmer and dissolve. Malfoy grinned at Harry's stunned expression with more than a hint of smugness. "It's all right, Potter, you don't need to say it. I already know. I'm brilliant."

With that, he stepped forward into the darkness of the revealed stairs. Harry gasped and reached out a hand, but it was too late. Malfoy strode down the stairs. Instinct more than sound warned Harry and he threw himself bodily at the blond just as several metallic snicks echoed in the darkness. Something skated over Harry as they both tumbled through the darkness and landed with a thump on the floor far below.

"Bloody hell, Potter! What was that about?" Malfoy yelled. Harry sprawled atop the Slytherin's back, unmoving. His head pressed against Malfoy's spine, but by the feel of it, the bones there had nearly broken his jaw. "Damn it, Potter, get off me!"

"I'd love to, Malfoy, but I seem to have been hit with a Paralysis Dart," Harry said calmly. He moved his head slightly, but the rest of his body refused to respond to his commands. He felt Malfoy's warm flesh beneath him and the root of one wing just touched the corner of his jaw. Harry restrained the urge to rub his face against the feathers, because Malfoy was tense as a board beneath him.

"What are you talking about, Potter? I demand you get off me this instant! You can't be paralyzed; I just felt you move."

"Tripping down the stairs the way you did triggered the trap in the wall, you idiot," Harry snapped. "I felt a dart hit me… maybe two. I can't tell because I can't feel much of anything." Except the fact that Malfoy was quite warm and rather cozy to lie against. He veered away from that thought immediately.

"So you expect me to remain here as your pillow until it wears off?" Malfoy demanded. "Besides, I think you broke my elbow."

Harry nearly didn't hear the last complaint because the thought of using Malfoy as a pillow had sent his mind racing back to its original heat-induced path. Fuck, if he got an erection now he wouldn't even be able to feel it… but Malfoy would. With effort, he dragged himself back to reality and finally processed Malfoy's latter statement.

"Are you hurt?" he asked sharply. "Is your elbow really broken?"

He felt Malfoy shift beneath him and assumed the Slytherin moved his arms experimentally. The motion caused one wing to brush against Harry's ear. Harry swallowed hard and dragged his head slightly, just to press against the feathers minutely. The softness was almost mind-numbing. Malfoy froze again.

"If you're paralyzed, Potter, stop squirming," the blond ordered.

Harry had to laugh. "Malfoy, the only thing I can move is my face. I can't possibly hurt you unless I sink my teeth into your skin." The statement nearly melted Harry's brain again after the words hit the air. He buried his face in Malfoy's back with a groan.

"That's it, Potter, I'm out of here," Malfoy said harshly. He half crawled, half rolled away from Harry, whose cheek slid first over the Slytherin's back, arse, and thighs before finally coming to rest against the cold floor. He sighed, but it was partially a sound of relief. He heard Malfoy scramble to his feet and then light pierced the darkness. Harry could see nothing but a flat stone wall. With some effort, he raised his head to look for Malfoy, but could only make out the dusty black boots of the Slytherin.

"Well, this is a dingy room," Malfoy said, apparently forgetting about Harry entirely in his zest to explore. "Looks like some sort of storage chamber… nothing but old crates. Hmmm, it must be a front. There has to be another door."

Harry rested his face on the ice-cold floor again. He was getting a crick in his neck from trying to look forward. He shut his eyes. Harry thought about warning the blond about the possibility of more traps, but decided it would serve him right to encounter another. After a moment, the footsteps returned.

"I found another room, Potter. How long will this paralysis-thingy last?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "That depends on how many darts I took for you. Is there any way you can check? And possibly locate one of the darts to see if I can figure out what sort of poison was used?"

Malfoy sighed as if sorely put-upon, but brightened the light. Harry felt a ghost of warmth and pressure against his lower back. Malfoy chuckled. "You caught one right across the arse, Potter. It split those peasant-like trousers of yours, which is really no loss. I wouldn't even bother repairing them if I were you. Your arse is bleeding. Want me to heal it for you?"

Harry swallowed back a retort and strove for calm. "That won't be necessary. The dart?"

Malfoy disappeared again and Harry heard him puttering around on the stairs for a moment. He returned and knelt next to Harry's visage with a bit of metal in his hand. "Here you are, Potter. Your tiny assailant. It seems to be coated with a greenish material… a bit powdery. Hmmm, and it's speckled with…" _Don't say gold, don't say gold_, Harry thought desperately.

"Gold," Malfoy finished.

"Oh shit."

"What? Is that bad, Potter?"

"It's bad for me. All it means for you is that you might need to find a new Auror for your case."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, the green powder is pretty standard. You're the potions expert, what is most commonly used in Sleeping Draughts?"

"Poppy seeds."

"Right. Mixed with powdered peridot and lethifold skin, it makes a powerful paralysis drug. Now, what generally happens when you add mica flakes to a potion?"

"It conveys permanence," Malfoy said softly.

"Permanence," Harry repeated. "By my reckoning I have perhaps another fifteen minutes to get this potion out of my system."

"Fuck," Malfoy growled. "All right, Potter, what the hell do I do?"

"Perhaps you could take me to St. Mungo's?"

"Excellent idea, Potter. I Apparate you straight to the hospital with my new adornments and they haul me away to be studied like some fascinating new species. Most likely to Azkaban after accusing me of doing this to you to begin with."

"You're being irrational, Malfoy," Harry said. "I can speak for myself, you know. They will listen to me."

Malfoy paced uncomfortably close to Harry's face, kicking up puffs of dust. Harry felt another sneeze coming on. "Of course, because you are the mighty Savior. Well, forgive me for being the only one on the planet without perfect faith in you."

"All right, we can debate this all night or you can just take me to Hermione's. She can get me to St. Mungo's and you can go home."

Malfoy knelt next to him and his voice was thick with relief. "Excellent plan, Potter. I would have thought of it myself in a moment."

"Just after you finished panicking?"

"Malfoys never panic," he said and gripped Harry tightly by the shoulder. "Hold on," he said before Harry could list every incident of Malfoy panic in his memory. Instead of the familiar lurch of Apparition, Harry felt nothing. He groaned.

"Bloody hell. Anti-Disapparition spell. It's standard practice for places under investigation. It keeps potential accomplices from popping in and removing evidence."

"That was years ago!" Malfoy yelped.

"Yes, but the Ministry never did anything with the house. Obviously, no one ever thought to dispel the Anti-Disapparition wards."

"That's just bloody fucking lovely," Malfoy snapped. "How large is the field? Do I need to drag you upstairs and outside?"

Harry winced at the thought. He knew Malfoy was likely to be less than gentle in his current agitated state. "Actually, the field could be as large as a kilometre in a case involving murder."

The Slytherin lurched to his feet, uttered a litany of choice curses, shattered something made of glass with an angry spell, and put his foot through a wooden crate from the sound. When his temper was under some semblance of control, he returned to Harry and knelt beside him again. "Any other brilliant ideas, Potter?"

"Just one," Harry admitted. His jaw ached and he lifted his head to ease the discomfort of the cold floor for a moment. Without Malfoy's warmth cushioning him, the chill of the stone began to seep into his bones. He couldn't move, but he was not completely numb. "There is a spell that will purge poisons from the blood. It's taught to all Aurors to use in situations such as this."

"Yes, well. I'm hardly an Auror, am I?"

"You're smart enough to learn a spell if I teach it to you, are you not?" Harry twisted his head to glare into the grey eyes that looked into his. They revealed anger tinged with worry.

"Let's hope so, Potter."

"All right, now the wand movement is similar to Wingardium Leviosa, except that instead of swish and flick, you make a swish and a quick downward jab. The incantation is _Purgara Sanguinus_."

Malfoy practiced both the incantation and the wand movement for long moments, but Harry refused to allow him to cast it until he deemed it adequate. He wasn't sure what a botched Purging Spell would do to him.

"Tha… that's g-g-g… good, M-Malfoy," Harry stuttered and rested his head on the floor again. His teeth were chattering.

"Bloody hell, Potter, you're freezing!"

"G-g-good of you to n-n-n-notice, Malfoy."

"Stubborn idiot, why didn't you say something? You know I don't recognize cold any longer." A sudden rush of warmth enveloped Harry as a Warming Charm swept over him. He sighed and soaked in the glorious pleasure of blessed heat.

~~ O ~~

Draco bit his lip as the Charm's magic wafted over the chilled Auror. He had been so intent on the spell that he hadn't realized Potter lay on an icy cold surface. Fuck, it was stone, so he couldn't be comfortable, either, with his chin propped on the floor. Of course bloody Potter was too noble to mention it. Without allowing himself to consider the action, Draco knelt and lifted the Gryffindor by the shoulders. He dragged Potter partially upright and braced the Auror against his chest while wrapping his arms around Potter's back. The Auror's head rested on Draco's shoulder.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Warming you up, for one thing," Draco replied. "And I think there is a chair in the other room. Let's find out, shall we?"

Draco lifted Potter, surprised to find he could hold him quite easily. He kept forgetting how much stronger he was now that he had been changed. He pulled Potter through the door and held him with one arm while he cast a Light Spell. A dusty armchair was visible near one corner, so Draco hauled Potter over and dumped him into it unceremoniously.

"Feel any different?" Draco asked as the dark head lolled. He reached out and propped Potter's head against the back of the chair.

"My neck is killing me," Potter said. "And I can't move."

"Okay, I'm going to cast the spell now. I don't think we should wait any longer."

Potter nodded and then said, "Wait! The effects… well, they are very unpleasant. Everything inside comes… out. You might want to find a bucket. And then stand back."

Draco wrinkled his nose, but scanned the room until he found a suitable container. It looked like a leather rubbish bin. He dragged it over and pushed it in front of Potter. "Ready?" he asked.

"Merlin no, but I refuse to stay in this state forever. Please cast."

Draco practiced the movement once more, held his breath, and let fly.

The result was immediate and dramatic. Potter's face turned a spectacular shade of green and his eyes widened in alarm. Draco instinctively reached out and tipped Potter toward the bin. The Auror's arms dropped forward, so Draco clamped them against his body to keep Potter's hands from the vomit that fairly exploded from the Gryffindor's mouth. It seemed to go on forever and Potter's body trembled violently in Draco's grip. He coughed and moaned during each brief pause, until the next spasm gripped him and his entire body stiffened once more.

Draco had never taken care of anyone in his life, but he found himself holding Potter tightly and brushing the hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead while murmuring reassuring nonsense. Every brush of his fingers against Potter's skin caused his vision to swim for a moment as the strange dreamlike quality threatened to steal over him. "Not much more," he whispered, hoping it was true. There could not possibly be much more in Potter's system—he had passed dry heaves some time ago and yet still tried to reject whatever had poisoned him.

"I think you cast the spell correctly," the Auror rasped jokingly during one interlude. Draco's snorted. He buried his face in the thick hair at the nape of Potter's neck and he breathed in the distinctive scent to prevent himself from heaving along with the Gryffindor. He sighed and allowed the visions to come. They swept him away in a blur of colours that faded into a pale picture of _Potter holding a small white feather. His expression was pensive and he turned away_ as the vision changed. This time Potter was angry, yelling and gesticulating in a manner Draco had not seen since Hogwarts. Draco assumed he was the recipient of the rage, but it was hard to tell. The vision shifted again and he saw _Potter lying on rumpled red sheets. A lazy grin curved his lips and his hair was tousled madly. His glasses were gone and he reached out—_ The mental pictures stopped abruptly, to Draco's relief. He had not been certain if they would go on forever. He took a deep breath and brought himself back to the present.

"Can you move yet?" Draco asked, not quite willing to take his lips from Potter's neck.

The Auror raised a hand weakly and curled his fingers around Draco's wrist. Tremors shook Potter's body, so Draco pulled him back into the chair and cradled the dark head against his chest. "Rest," Draco ordered. "Just rest for a bit."

~~ O ~~

Harry awoke to a strange combination of discomfort and ease. He was pleasantly warm, but ached in odd places, such as most of his joints, his head, and the muscles of one hip. He sighed deeply and then his eyes snapped open as he realized he rested atop a warm body. A pale blur met his eyes and he blinked to focus on the edge of a jaw. Bloody hell, he had fallen asleep on Draco Malfoy.

He processed the thought slowly and realized one hand rested against Malfoy's hip, barely touching. His other hand was flattened over the Slytherin's heart. His fingers twitched slightly and he closed his eyes again. His head lay on Malfoy's shoulder, which explained the pinch in his neck. Soft blond hair tickled Harry's nose and he had to quell the urge to taste Malfoy's throat. The Slytherin smelled amazing, even through the dust that seemed to have turned into concrete in his nostrils.

Malfoy's breathing was slow and even. Harry opened his eyes again and tried to determine the time. Judging by his stiffness, they could have been asleep for hours, unless the ache was merely induced by the Purging Spell. Something shifted slightly against his calf and he realized it was one of Malfoy's wings, folded around him to provide a cocoon of warmth. He stopped worrying about the time as the urge to touch the feathers seized his imagination. Harry moved his hand from Malfoy's chest and froze for a moment when he noticed one of Malfoy's arms dangling loosely over his lap, with the fingers curled gently over his hip. It was almost a tender embrace and Harry was disturbed by a sudden longing even stronger than the one that made him reach out and trail his knuckles over the soft feathers of one wing.

He might as well have cast _Ennervate_. Malfoy was awake and tense before Harry's hand completed the brief movement.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

Harry guiltily pulled his hand back against his own chest. "Erm, I think we fell asleep." Before Malfoy could dredge up a sarcastic comment, Harry tucked his face closer into the blond's neck. "You make a really nice mattress, Malfoy."

Harry hit the floor with a yelp. Malfoy stood and stretched both arms and wings while he glared down at Harry. "I see you've recovered," he said casually.

Harry got to his feet and rubbed his sore buttocks. He made a mental note never to awaken the Slytherin again. Apparently he was quite testy in the morning.

~TBC~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Six**

_It is not enough to just ride this earth._

_You have to aim higher,_

_try to take off, even fly._

_It is our duty._

_-Jose Yacopi _

Draco scowled down at the Auror. He had been awakened from a pleasurable, albeit disturbing, dream by Potter's knuckles skating over his wing. The jolt of delight had blended with his dream for only a moment, until the solidity of the man in his arms brought reality back with a rush. He thought Potter might have made the movement involuntarily, but the question had spilled out regardless. Potter had snuggled closer with a teasing comment and something had awakened in Draco with frightening intensity.

He had not meant to shove the Auror away so violently, but Potter seemed to take it in stride. He grinned ruefully at Draco.

"Have you seen my glasses?" he asked.

Draco wordlessly retrieved them from the floor where he had haphazardly dropped them the night before while combing Potter's hair from his eyes. Draco shied away from that memory and watched as Potter replaced the spectacles and then blinked at him through the familiar distortion. The Auror grinned and Draco nearly smiled back before catching himself. Damn it, he was not supposed to _like_ the git.

"Shall we continue the exploration, or do you plan to remain here the entire day?" he asked brusquely to cover his momentary lapse. Potter looked around the room curiously. Even though Draco had seen it the previous night, the place was quite different in the light of day. _Or in the light from the magical paintings_, he amended. Several paintings of daylight scenes negated the weather outside. One showed a vivid summertime landscape, complete with bright flowers, warm sunlight, and glittering butterflies. Draco thought, for a Slytherin, the old fellow had chosen quite Hufflepuffish artwork.

Two very long benches sat beneath the largest landscapes, cluttered with potion-making paraphernalia. Potter wandered over and looked at the items curiously without touching anything. Several large cabinets adorned the room and Draco gravitated toward them.

"Wait, don't open that!" Potter warned. Draco nearly did so anyway, but remembered the stairway incident at the last moment. The Auror hurried over and cast a variety of spells to test for traps and tricks. Prudently, as it turned out, because one of them would have taken off Draco's hands and another would have destroyed half the house, according to the Super Auror.

"Paranoid sort, wasn't he?" Potter asked rhetorically.

"If you were attempting to illegally recreate extinct beings, you would most likely be paranoid as well, Potter."

"Yeah," he agreed and gave the contents of the first cabinet a cursory examination. Draco was far more interested than Potter. Already he had spotted several rare potion ingredients that were worth a fortune. One of the jars was labelled _Powdered Minotaur Horn_. Draco's avarice must have been obvious.

"Don't get greedy," Potter warned. "I promise you can come back here and filch to your heart's content after we get what we came for."

Draco raised a brow at him. "You'll allow me to take these?"

Potter shrugged. "Why not? The Ministry had its chance. As long as you give me your word you won't use them to brew dangerous potions or unleash them on an unsuspecting public..."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "As one of the previously _unsuspecting public_, Potter, I can seriously say I have no wish to inflict pain on the undeserving." That much was true. On the _deserving_, however, Draco planned to inflict plenty. He turned his attention to the countertops. No books or notes were in evidence. He felt a hand skim over the edge of one wing and spun so quickly he nearly took out a set of vials. Draco glared at Potter, who muttered something unintelligible and moved quickly away. When the Auror was far enough across the room to avoid accidental wing touching, Draco turned and examined the containers at hand.

"Be careful," Potter advised and wandered away to check another part of the room.

Draco snorted. The glassware was nearly as impressive as the potion ingredients. The old codger had gathered bowls and vials of every imaginable material. Draco noticed several rare porcelain vials and some that were carved from solid jade in varying colours.

"Hey, Malfoy, come look at this," Potter called. Draco turned to find Potter standing in the far corner before a large wooden desk. One drawer was open and Potter flipped idly through the pages of a book. Draco walked across the room and leaned over the Auror's shoulder to peer at the tome.

"It's written in some sort of code, obviously," Potter said. "Do you recognize any of the characters?"

Draco shifted somewhat closer and his shoulder nudged Potter's. He froze for a moment, finding the contact far more disturbing than it should have been. It was probably just a side effect from waking up with the git in his lap. Draco tried to focus on the words instead of the scent of Potter, which was something he should definitely _not_ focus on at any time, _ever_.

"Were you not trained by the Auror Division? What are you doing haphazardly reading that? Don't you know how dangerous it is?" Draco demanded.

"I cast the proper spells," Potter said, sounding petulant. "_And_ a Ward of Protection. How stupid do you think I am? Don't answer that. Now… the code?"

Draco sighed. "Of course it's in code, Potter. No self-respecting Slytherin would ever write down anything in plain language." Draco reached over and flipped a few pages, ignoring the fact that the movement pressed him even closer to Potter. "Then again, not many Slytherins would be stupid enough to keep a journal."

"Do you think that's what this is?" Potter's voice was excited.

"It appears to be. Pokeby was probably forced to keep one if his experiments kept failing. He would have to keep track of what worked and what did not."

"I'll take it to Hermione and see if she can decipher it," Potter said and then turned those too-green eyes on Draco. "Unless you want to give it a go, first?"

The Auror was suddenly too close for comfort. If Draco leant forward just a bit he could kiss Potter, and that thought was so ridiculous he decided he would need to make an appointment with a Mind-Healer. Or have himself Obliviated.

"I'll look it over when we get back to the Manor," Draco said abruptly and nearly winced at the _we_. What made him assume Potter would accompany him?

"Okay," the Auror said and shut the book. Draco moved away quickly. Potter opened the other drawers and disarmed a surprising number of traps. The old wizard had been quite the distrusting sort. Potter discovered a seemingly random stack of papers, most of them written in the same obscure code. He placed everything into a pile on the desktop. They found little else of value and Potter finally declared them ready to leave. Draco located a knapsack and they packed it full of papers and books, including a couple of interesting potion-making tomes that Draco had never seen before.

"All right, I think we're ready," Potter said. "To Malfoy Manor, then?"

Draco nodded. "It is well past breakfast time. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat a thestral," Potter admitted. "Every molecule of sustenance was purged from my system last night… Thank you for that, by the way." Potter tugged at his hair in a way that Draco was beginning to find endearing. He shut his eyes at the idea and vowed to figure out how to get laid as soon as possible. Surely some woman in the world would be willing to overlook the wings… Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He certainly could not walk around wizarding London chatting up girls.

Potter apparently misread his pained expression. "Okay, right. I'm not very good at thanking you, since I've never had to do it before, so let's just say I owe you one and we'll leave it at that, yeah?"

Draco's eyes snapped open and fixed on the Auror. "You owe me one?" He did not bother to keep the predatory edge from his voice. Was Potter daft? Draco owed him a life-debt. How could he possibly think he owed Draco a favour? Nevertheless, he was not about to let such an opportunity slip by. Potter's stupidity could only work to his advantage. The stupidity in question was partially belied by the look of panic that flared in the green eyes. Draco nearly laughed. The Auror was right to be worried. "Very well, Potter. I accept. I shall think long and hard on what you can do to repay me. Fear not, it will not be something frivolous."

Potter's throat worked nervously and he gave his hair another yank. "Um… okay. Hopefully it won't bankrupt me… or be too humiliating. I'll just have to trust you, yeah?" He said the last bit hopefully and Draco's wicked grin widened.

"We will see," he said cryptically.

~~ O ~~

Harry swallowed hard and busied himself gathering up the papers. What had possessed him to suggest he owed Malfoy a favour? Obviously he was lightheaded from hunger. Now he would have to deal with the worrisome anticipation of Draco Malfoy calling in a debt. Naturally it would not be any of the ten dozen things Harry would _like_ to offer him. It would probably lean more toward degradation. After all, Malfoy had seven years or more of alleged torment to avenge.

"Shall we go?" Harry asked brightly.

He led the way back through the storage room and up the stairs after ascertaining the paralysis darts had all been disabled. By unspoken agreement they sealed the doors, leaving the place as they had left it. Once outside, Harry straddled his broom. Malfoy carried the knapsack without comment and Harry assumed his increased strength would make it a barely noticeable burden. They took to the air and Harry found Malfoy in flight to be an even more captivating sight in the daytime. It was a cloudy day, but at least it had stopped snowing. Harry did not fly far before he swooped down and landed beneath an overhang of evergreen trees.

"Shall we try Apparating from here?" he asked. "We should be well out of the wards by now."

Malfoy shrugged. "I'll meet you in the East Wing ground-floor parlour."

"Wait!" Harry cried and grabbed Malfoy's sleeve. He glared at the blond. "Other than the fact that I have no idea where the damned East Wing ground-floor parlour is, I don't even know if I'm allowed to Apparate into the Manor!"

Consternation crossed Malfoy's features for only a moment. He sighed. "I adjusted the wards—with Mother's permission—to admit you. Just Apparate to my sitting room, then. I'm quite certain you'll remember where that is."

Harry let go and Malfoy disappeared with a crack. Harry followed and was soon dripping bits of melting snow from his boots onto Malfoy's fine carpet. He quickly took them off and tossed them by the balcony doors before propping his broom next to them. Malfoy muttered a series of Unlocking Charms to open a nearby trunk. He tossed in the knapsack.

"The bath is off there," Malfoy said with a gesture toward a nearby door. "I'll find something for you to wear… unless you prefer your torn trousers? Do you want me to heal your arse for you?"

Harry snorted at the sarcastic tone. "I think I'll manage. I will take you up on the clothing change, however." With that Harry entered an immense bathing chamber that contained an impressive marble tub. It was already filled with water and Harry dipped a hand into it. It was slightly warmer than he preferred, but he decided he could deal with it this one time. He quickly stripped off his ruined trousers and his shirt, noting that his cuffs were heavily streaked with dust. He must look a fright. No wonder Malfoy kept shying away from him. Well, except when they had been looking at the book. That had been… interesting. He rubbed his shoulder slightly, remembering Malfoy's nearness. He sighed heavily and shook it off as he climbed into the hot water. It took some time to adjust and ease himself in. He wondered if the house-elves kept the water constantly filled and at the proper temperature, or if the tub was charmed. If the latter, Harry vowed to acquire one.

The water stung the gash across his buttocks quite painfully. He scrubbed it gently, hoping the wound would not get infected. He would drop by the staff Healer at the Ministry on Monday, just to be safe. Either that or Hermione could look at it for him. His head snapped up when the door opened without a knock. Malfoy tossed some black clothing on a nearby chair. "Garments for you, Potter. Don't take all morning—your breakfast is getting cold."

"Malfoy, wait!" Harry said as the blond turned to leave.

He cocked a pale brow. "Want me to wash your back?"

Harry gaped at him for a moment while his body reacted to the teasing words in a manner that was, thankfully, hidden by the water. Malfoy laughed. Harry recovered and said, "Actually, I was hoping you could send a message to Hermione. She's probably going spare wondering what's happened to us."

Malfoy snorted and shrugged. "I'll take care of it. Hurry up."

When the door closed, Harry sighed and leaned his head against the marble. Bloody hell, it was getting worse. Now the mere sound of Malfoy's voice was turning him on. Harry decided he had better get the hell away from him for a while. And possibly get laid. He stroked his erection slowly, but he did not quite dare to bring himself off in Malfoy's tub. Instead he thought unsexy thoughts and turned his attention to the mechanics of the bath. By the time he had dried himself and donned the soft black robes Malfoy had provided, he felt more in control of his libido.

The robes fit like a damned glove and were definitely the most stylish things he had ever worn. The fabric seemed to accentuate his shoulders and slender hips, clinging somewhat before falling away in voluminous folds. Harry smoothed them over his abdomen and marvelled at the softness. They were warm, also. Harry wondered if he could bring himself to swallow his pride and ask Malfoy where he had purchased them. _Probably not_, he decided and grinned at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged a comb through his hair and tossed the item on the nearby dressing table before entering the sitting room.

Malfoy stood near the fireplace and he turned when Harry shut the door. His grey eyes widened and he stared at Harry for such a long time that he felt a blush creep into his cheeks as he reached up to touch his hair.

"What?" Harry asked finally.

"Damn, Potter, you actually look… almost passable."

Harry's blush darkened at the semi-compliment. "Thanks. Nice robes," he said as he ran a hand over them once more.

Malfoy nodded, but surprisingly made no reference to the usual state of Harry's manner of dress. The blond, naturally, looked amazing. He had apparently adjusted his appearance while Harry had bathed. His clothing was different—a modified set of pale blue robes that fit him nicely. Harry tried not to notice and failed. Malfoy said, "I Fire-called Granger. She demands to hear every detail, of course. I told her you would call her back." Malfoy approached a small table that had been laden with food. Harry did not remember seeing it in the room before and assumed it had been brought in or Transfigured. He was glad they were not making the long journey to the dining room. He was famished and the smell was tantalizing.

Harry pulled up a chair and sat across from the winged blond. He was ravenous, but tried to remember his manners. Cool grey eyes measured him, as usual, and Harry decided he was tired of being found wanting.

They ate in silence and Harry drank what seemed like a gallon of pumpkin juice. He was extraordinarily dehydrated and surprised he had not stooped to eating melted snow on their way back. Malfoy finished first and nursed a glass of some sort of fancy juice—pomegranate or some such—while he waited for Harry to finish.

"So, Potter," Malfoy said when Harry finally began to feel sated. "Not married yet? I thought you would be blissfully wed by now. Decided on a long engagement?"

Harry nearly choked and quickly set aside his glass. His mind scrambled for explanations, but in the end he settled on the truth. "We broke up."

Malfoy looked surprised for only a moment. "Why? Did she blame you for her idiot brother's little accident?"

Harry drew in a breath. The suggestion was so close to accurate that a shard of guilt sliced through the strange contentment he had felt while sharing a peaceable meal with the Slytherin. He pushed back his chair, hoping to turn the conversation to less volatile territory.

Malfoy smirked. "That figures. I always knew she was a perfidious, greedy little bint, but I'm rather surprised that _you_ figured it out."

Harry shot to his feet, annoyed. Malfoy's opinion of the Weasleys had obviously not changed in the past few years, but Harry felt he was hardly qualified to judge Ginny when he did not even know her. Frankly, Harry's relationship—or lack thereof—was none of Malfoy's business. "You don't know what you're talking about," Harry said tightly.

The blond shrugged. "I know trash when I see it. I could have told you years ago that the Weaselette was nothing but a gold-Niffler. You're well rid of her, Potter."

"Must you always be such an arse?" Harry demanded.

"Must you always blind yourself to the truth?" Malfoy sneered.

"Thank you for breakfast," Harry said sharply. "I'll have the robes cleaned and returned to you." Before Malfoy could speak, Harry added, "I'll owl you later," and Disapparated.

~~ O ~~

Draco stared at the place where Potter had disappeared for a long time, mentally kicking himself for behaving like a bastard again, just when Potter had been acting like… well, like an actual friend instead of an Auror on a case. If he was perfectly honest with himself, Draco supposed he had lashed out in a subconscious effort to drive Potter away. His odd feelings of attraction seemed to be growing exponentially. Seeing Potter lounging in the bath had caused the moisture to dry up in his mouth and a strange, fluttering feeling to take up residence in his midsection. His teasing offer to wash Potter's back had not been a joke by even a remote stretch. It was disturbing. And wrong. Disturbing and wrong.

He got to his feet and walked through the balcony doors while the house-elves cleaned up the remains of breakfast. The clouds looked to be breaking up somewhat, which meant less snow, but probably even colder temperatures.

"Mistress Narcissa is wanting Master Draco to be meeting her in the library," a house-elf said as it hovered a couple of steps behind him. Draco sneered at it absently—it was one of a pair that looked so similar that he could never be arsed to remember which was which. He was not even sure if they were male or female… or one of each.

"Fine," Draco said. He resigned himself to spending some time with his mother, knowing he had avoided her quite mercilessly in the last few days. "Tell her I'll be along shortly."

Draco checked his appearance in the mirror and tucked a hair back into place. He tried not to think about how delectable Potter had looked in his black robes. They had fit the Auror to perfection, but for a slight tightness in the shoulders that was definitely no disadvantage. The bloody idiot was actually quite handsome when he was cleaned up and decently dressed.

Draco scowled at himself in the mirror and vowed to stop thinking about Harry Potter. The Auror had been angry when he left and there was a good chance he would not bother to return. Draco needed to concentrate on deciphering the journal and severing all association with Potter.

~~ O ~~

Harry stalked through the house to the kitchen fireplace and Fire-called Hermione, who told him to call back in an hour because she was in the middle of something. Harry huffed in frustration, but used the time to draft an order for Kreacher to take to the market and replenish the pantry. Kreacher assisted by listing off ingredients, some useful and some not. Harry refused to purchase snails, regardless of how much "Master Regulus" used to enjoy them.

The mundane task did nothing to cool Harry's ire and he was still plenty agitated when Hermione allowed him access to her living room. Her astounded expression halted his flow of words before they began.

"Harry! What happened to you?"

He looked down, wondering if he had cut himself without noticing, or run afoul of a Weasley prank left in his house.

"The robes!" she clarified. "You look absolutely gorgeous!" Hermione actually walked around him in an appreciative circle, making him feel like an animal on the auction block.

"Oh, stop it," he said. "I borrowed these from Malfoy." He had meant to change at Grimmauld Place, but he had simply been unwilling to take off the comfortable clothing, especially when he knew they looked good on him.

"You borrowed his clothes?" Her brows disappeared into the curls over her eyes and Harry scowled.

"Nothing happened!" he snapped and then amended that statement. "Well, something did happen, but not what you're thinking."

He recounted their trip to the old house and discovery of the hidden cellar. She listened intently as he glossed over the dart incident and the part about teaching Malfoy the Purging Spell. He left out entirely the whole waking up in Malfoy's arms bit, knowing she would tease him mercilessly for days, and moved on quickly to the journal.

"So we went back to the Manor, cleaned up, had a perfectly normal breakfast, and then he had to go and turn back into the prat we all know and hate." Harry paced in annoyance at the memory and sighed. "I suppose it's for the best. He is just too damned attractive and he's a _victim_, for fuck's sake. He's also Lucius Malfoy's son, a man who will happily _Crucio_ me the instant he is released from Azkaban and that is _without_ any inkling that I'm interested in his son."

"Are you?" Hermione asked. "Interested in his son?"

Harry threw himself onto the sofa and then shifted a bit to shuffle aside a few of the books whose corners dug into his hip. "I don't know," he admitted. "I would be if it was not completely stupid and ridiculous. He doesn't even like blokes!"

"How do you know? He seemed pretty close to Blaise Zabini in seventh year."

"He seemed even closer to Pansy Parkinson, remember? They could be engaged for all I know."

"They aren't," Hermione said confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Don't you ever _read_ the Daily Prophet? Pureblood families like his make a huge deal out of engagements. They host massive events and make official announcements and all of that tripe. It's another way of showing off."

"So… nothing like that for Malfoy?" Harry tried to quell an unexpected sense of relief and failed.

"Nothing like that. In fact, the gossip column mentions that Pansy and Blaise are currently in Switzerland. They took a selected group of cohorts with them, but there are suggestions that the two of them are an item."

Harry contemplated that and then glared at her. "You are not honestly trying to get me to pursue Draco Malfoy? Regardless of whether or not he's engaged and whether or not he's straight, he's still _Malfoy_! He lives to make me feel like an inferior arse. He despises my friends; he's continuously insulting; he's—"

"Astoundingly gorgeous, is just your type, is not ever going to be blinded by your name, and will never be boring."

Harry shook his head. "Give it up, Hermione. He hates me. This foolish attraction is completely one-sided and I'll get over it. I need to figure out who turned him into what he is, bring them to justice, and never see Draco Malfoy again. In fact, I plan to limit my contact with him from now on. Will you help him decipher the papers we found? I would be useless at that, anyway. Owl me if you find anything valuable. I'm going to Hogwarts to check out the Restricted Section. I'll say hello to Hagrid for you."

It was obvious that Hermione wanted to argue, but Harry was finished talking about Malfoy. Before she could protest, he made his final goodbyes and fled to Hogwarts.

~~ TBC ~~


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Seven**

_In our dreams we are able to fly..._

and that is a remembering

of how we were meant to be.

-Madeleine L'Engle 

Draco reluctantly admitted Hermione Granger to the library. He half-expected a Gryffindor tirade regarding his treatment of the Heroic Wonder, or at least a glare of disapproval, but she surprised him once again.

"Hello, Draco. Harry told me you found a journal that may prove of interest. Do you want some help deciphering it, or do you prefer to attempt it on your own?"

Draco pursed his lips and nearly told her he wanted to do it alone, but the sad truth was that he was heartily sick of being by himself. His time with Potter at least allowed him to converse with another human being and he missed the interaction. Before the wing incident Draco had been a veritable social whore, constantly attending functions, visiting acquaintances, and travelling abroad. Being closeted in the Manor had become a torment.

His mother had apparently concocted a story about Draco having a lingering illness—he had received a variety of polite get-well cards and trifling gifts from those pretending to be concerned. Those who might truly have cared—namely Pansy and Blaise—were on a winter holiday and would not return for at least a month. Pansy had Fire-called a number of times and Draco had pretended that all was well. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to return home. He dreaded to see the horror on their faces before they shunned him completely. They might be his friends, but they were purebloods. He would do the same in their place.

Shaking off his maudlin thoughts, he shrugged. "Stay if you like. It is probable that Pokeby made up his own code, in which case it will probably take some time to decipher. I suppose I could use another pair of eyes."

Granger nodded wordlessly and allowed Draco to make all of the suggestions regarding the journal. It was decided that they would copy each page of the journal rather than tear it apart or try to work side by side. After some experimentation, they came up with a system. Granger would place a piece of parchment atop one page of the journal and Draco would cast a Replication Charm. The gibberish-like words would appear to bleed through the parchment and then Granger would whip it away and set it upon the growing stack. When Draco tired of casting, they swapped places.

"Harry is at Hogwarts," Granger stated when they were nearly three-quarters of the way through the chore. He had wondered if she ever planned to speak.

"Bully for the Chosen One," Draco replied mildly.

Granger shrugged. "I thought you might be curious."

"What Potter does with his time is no concern of mine."

"It is when he is working exclusively on your case."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Much good that has done. We are no closer to finding my assailants. All we have is the diary of a long-dead wizard."

"That's why Harry went to Hogwarts. He is hoping to find some information on Gunther Pokeby."

Draco sighed and let the next piece of parchment flutter to the top of the stack. "Do you think it will do any good?"

Granger looked at him and then looked away, probably hoping to keep him from picking up on the pity reflected there. "I don't know. But we have to try."

"Why? Because of an overinflated sense of duty and the need to right wrongs?"

Granger actually laughed. "Something like that, I suppose. And it is more than that for Harry."

Draco sneered. "His need to maintain his status as the Savior?"

A shadow crossed Granger's features and she smiled almost sadly. "You don't know him at all, do you?"

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw. After more than a decade of watching the Chosen One, Draco thought he knew Potter quite well. "I know him as well I care to, thank you very much."

Granger's smile bore an uncanny resemblance to a smirk. "If you say so," she replied enigmatically.

He thought about asking what she meant, but decided he would rather not know. Was his growing interest in the Auror that obvious? He hoped not. It certainly would not do for Potter to discover that particular madness. He glared at Granger. "We should begin with the most obviously repeated characters, which generally indicate vowels such as A or E."

She thankfully turned her intelligence to the problem at hand and left off examining Draco's relationship with Potter. Or lack thereof.

~~ O ~~

Harry left Hagrid's hut and headed for the castle. He always felt somewhat better after visiting the Gamekeeper, especially now that Hagrid was blissfully happy. He adored his wife and his collection of new pets, few of which were actually dangerous. Harry assumed that was mostly Olympe's influence. She was away at Beauxbatons teaching, although Hagrid chatted with her often via the Floo Network and they spent the weekends together at Hogwarts or in France.

Harry made his way through the castle and headed for McGonagall's office, ignoring the buzz in his wake as several students recognized him. Word of his arrival must have preceded him, for the entrance was open. He quickly took the stairs and smiled at McGonagall when he reached the office. It looked much the same as it had when Dumbledore had been in residence, except that several decorative vases filled with flowers adorned the room.

"Hello, Harry. It's nice to see you again," she said, although the quill she wrote with did not cease scratching on the parchment. "I take it you are not here for a friendly visit."

"Well, sort of," Harry replied with a grin. "I stopped in to see Hagrid and it's always nice to say hello to everyone, of course. But, yeah, I'm mainly here to talk to Dumbledore and see if he can help me with a case. I need to ask him about a former student. You might remember him, also. His name was Gunther Pokeby."

She stopped writing and her brow wrinkled slightly. After a moment she shook her head. "Pokeby? That name is unfamiliar to me. What house was he in? And what year?"

"I'm not sure what year, but he was definitely Slytherin."

"Perhaps Albus will remember. His memory fails somewhat now that he is a portrait, but…"

"Oh, tosh, Minerva," said Dumbledore and Harry turned to greet the former Headmaster's likeness with a grin. "My memory is sharp as a Muggle tack."

"Yes, the sort they use on horses," she said dryly. "Harry, I will leave you to your research. I trust you can let yourself out without getting into any difficulty?"

"I'm not fifteen any more, Headmistress."

McGonagall chuckled. "Somehow I doubt your ability to get into trouble has diminished. Nevertheless, I shall depart."

"Is it all right if I stop by the library on the way out?" Harry called before she reached the stairs. "I might need to look something up."

"As you wish. I will inform Madam Pince. Give my regards to Hermione and… the others."

"I will." Harry turned back to the portrait. "Hello, Headmaster."

The blue eyes twinkled. "I am Headmaster no more, Harry. Please call me Albus."

Harry grinned. "I'll try. It just seems kind of strange. Anyway, I'm here to ask you about a wizard named Gunther Pokeby. Do you have any recollection of him? We believe he was obsessed with flying or possibly Veela and similar flying creatures."

Dumbledore's brow wrinkled. "Pokeby," he repeated.

"Slytherin."

"Ah, yes. They called him Gunnypoke. He was a small, furtive child. Obsessed with birds, as was his entire family, actually. His grandfather was famous for identifying several species. I believe there is even a Chocolate Frog Card in his likeness."

Harry did not remember ever seeing that, but he had not been interested in collecting Chocolate Frog cards for quite some time. "I think he eventually graduated beyond birds," Harry admitted and then began the tale of Gunther Pokeby's experiments.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Ah yes, a tragic affair. I do remember now. Poor Gunther was sent to Azkaban. He was quite mad, it seems."

"Yes, well someone seems to have recreated his experiments. Effectively."

"What do you mean?"

Harry glanced at the other Headmaster portraits, some of whom listened attentively. "Um… does your painting come free of the wall?"

"Indeed."

Harry reached up and hoisted down the heavy portrait frame before carrying it down the stairs and into the hall. _This is great_, he thought, _someone will think I'm stealing Dumbledore's portrait_. "Is the Room of Requirement repaired?"

"Yes."

Harry carried the picture to the seventh floor and walked back and forth the requisite number of times, trying not to remember his last foray into the room. Unwillingly, he remembered Malfoy pressed against his back and the arms that nearly crushed out his breath. He shook off the memory and opened the door to a plain room that contained a large desk to prop the painting upon.

"Okay, it's private here. I made a promise that no word of this would get out. He would kill me and I don't mean that figuratively. I mean gruesomely and with relish."

"I hope you mean the relish figuratively."

Harry blinked. "Erm… yes." Before Dumbledore could wander off on a verbal tangent, Harry explained Draco's condition. He thought he even managed to do so without blushing, mainly by describing the wings in a clinical manner and not allowing himself to think about how soft and enticing he found them.

"How dreadful. Poor Gunther. He was a studious child, almost more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. Surprisingly skilled in Potions, now that I recall it."

"Did he have any other relatives that might have followed in his footsteps? Someone that might have wanted revenge, perhaps? I find it strange that Malfoy was specifically targeted. Did Pokeby have any interaction with the Malfoys?" Once the question occurred to him, Harry made a mental note to ask Malfoy about it. Perhaps Draco could talk to Narcissa and see if she recalled any family tales or feuds related to the Pokeby family.

"Not that I recall, but sometimes student interactions are unknown to the teachers. You might verify the records to see which Malfoys were in attendance at the time, and perhaps the Blacks, as well. It is not impossible that the ultimate target was Narcissa, with someone seeking to hurt her through her son."

Shit. The threads of possibility were growing instead of shrinking. Discovery of the Pokeby name had produced more questions and answered none.

"All right. Thank you, sir," Harry said politely.

"You are quite welcome, Harry. How are your young friends?"

"You mean Hermioine and… Ron?"

"Of course."

"Hermione is fine. Great, actually. Ron… well, not so much."

Dumbledore tsked. "I am sorry to hear that. His accident is known to me and I had hoped his healing would begin by now. Some people never find acceptance within themselves after adversity." His voice was sad and Harry thought he was not completely referring to Ron.

"Hermione thinks he's being a prat."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I see Miss Granger has not lost her propensity for speaking her mind."

Harry grinned. "No. Not at all. In fact, she is helping me with the Malfoy case. I hope they don't kill each other. Or that Malfoy doesn't kill her, at any rate."

"Have no fear, Harry. I believe you greatly underestimate Draco Malfoy."

Harry made a face. If anything, he had been guilty of _overestimating_ Draco Malfoy recently. The blond's sneering commentary had been a much-needed dose of reality. Harry might find him stunningly attractive now, but that did not make him any less of a tosser.

"Now that I think on it, I believe Gunther Pokeby spent some time in Egypt after he left Hogwarts. He was a particular friend of Madam Pince. You might ask her for more information."

Harry's brows rose. "Madam Pince?" It was hard to imagine the sourpuss librarian even speaking civilly to another human being, much less having something as mundane as a _friend_.

He returned Dumbledore's portrait to McGonagall's office and made his way to the library. The familiar hush greeted him and several Hogwarts students stared at him in astonishment. The resulting stage whisper cascaded through the room and drew the immediately glare of Madam Pince. The murmur died as quickly as it began. Harry quelled his instinctive rush of nervousness and reminded himself that he was an Auror now. He had defeated Voldemort, for pity's sake. He refused to be intimidated by a bloody librarian.

Harry screwed up his courage and smiled winningly as he approached her desk. Her suspicious glare could have melted metal. "Good morning, Madam Pince. How nice to see you, again."

"Mr. Potter. You do realize you are disturbing the studies of the students." It was not a question.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm here on official business. I have some questions about Gunther Pokeby."

She drew in a breath and her features softened into something surprisingly normal, drawn forth by her evident surprise. "Gunther?" she repeated quietly.

Harry nodded encouragingly.

The iron mask slid back over her face. "Gunther Pokeby is dead. I have no wish to speak of him."

"It's very important." His voice brooked no refusal. He had learned that much from his stint as an Auror, at least. She tried to hold his gaze and failed.

"This evening," she said quietly. "I will meet you in my office after the dinner hour."

"All right," Harry replied and wondered what the hell he was going to do in the interim hours. "Thank you."

He left the library and wandered the familiar old halls, calling up memories and wondering when the place had grown so small.

~~ O ~~

Draco sighed in frustration and rubbed a hand over his temple. They had taken the copied notes and moved to an unused room on the second floor in order to have more room for sorting. At Granger's suggestion they had tacked each journal page to the wall with a Sticking Charm. The pale mauve walls now had a bizarre white border marred with black scribbles.

"All right. I think we've isolated the five most common symbols," Granger said. Draco was impressed with her fortitude. She had barely paused since her arrival and Draco wondered how Potter ever managed to keep up with her. He was exhausted and thirsty. They had stopped for a plate of sandwiches and biscuits at noon, but it was now approaching dinner time and she showed no sign of wanting a break. "These should represent A, E, S, R and possibly T."

"Unless he translated his notes from French or German or some other language."

Granger scowled. "Damn. I'd better have Harry check and see if Pokeby spoke any other languages." She gnawed her lip for a moment. "I think I'll send him a Patronus in order to catch him before he leaves Hogwarts. Do you have anything you want to say to him?"

"Yes. Ask him why he's such an idiot."

Her lips thinned, but she muttered the spell and cast. A silvery shape streaked from her wand and out the door.

"A weasel?" Draco asked and smirked.

Her brown eyes flashed. "An otter."

Draco nodded. "A water weasel."

"I'm thinking about yanking on your wings."

Draco sidled away. He definitely did not want to be privy to any Granger-induced visions. And he thought she might be serious about the wing-pulling.

"So, to get back to these symbols here…"

Luckily, his attempt to distract her worked. She leaped on the subject like a starved dog on fresh meat, intent on worrying it into submission. Draco let her words wash over him and wondered how Potter fared at Hogwarts.

~~ O ~~

Harry wandered outside and cast a Warming Charm to keep from freezing as he walked toward the greenhouses. Snow covered the statues and bushes, making everything looked soft-edged and blurry. Harry thought about looking up Neville, who now taught Herbology. It was his first year without Professor Sprout coaching him and he was guaranteed to be a bit flustered. Harry was not sure he wanted to sit through a dissertation about Neville's teaching woes and an accounting of his most difficult students.

Instead, Harry diverted his course and walked through the snow to the ice-edged lake, waving at the few students out in the weather who dared to greet him. Most of the friendly ones were Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, not surprisingly, and one brave group of yellow and black clad students even stopped him to ask for an autograph.

Harry escaped the random students and found a quiet space in the rocks that was sheltered from haphazard gusts of wind. It was cold enough that the Warming Charm needed renewing every few minutes. The lake looked still and somehow pristine. He wondered how the merpeople survived below the surface when the lake was near-frozen. He grimaced at the memory of the lake during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He did not care enough to ever go beneath the waves and ask.

Thinking of merpeople turned his thoughts to Malfoy. According to Hermione, Malfoy was now a throwback to some ancient people. His brow wrinkled as he speculated. How ancient were the merpeople? Would they remember as far back as the Anakim? Did they keep records? It was a strange thought and he vowed to ask Dumbledore before he left the castle.

Harry pushed away from the stones and stood only to suck in a cold breath when Hermione's Patronus burst into shape before him. The otter cavorted around him as it spoke. _Harry, please find out whether or not Pokeby spoke any foreign languages We are focusing on deciphering this into English and do not want any unpleasant surprises, such as discovering his native language to be German or French. Also, Malfoy says hi._

Harry snorted a laugh at the last portion. "I'll bet." The Patronus dissipated and Harry continued his trek back through the snow. He had time, so he took the stairs to McGonagall's office and asked Hermione's question of Dumbledore. Fruitlessly, as it turned out. Dumbledore had no recollection at all of whether or not Gunther Pokeby spoke any languages other than English and also knew nothing of possible merpeople records. Harry was beginning to think his visit to Hogwarts was a massive waste of time.

He ate in the Great Hall at the teacher's table and was paraded out like a show pony by McGonagall, which made him give her a subtle look of annoyance and mentally cross her off his Christmas card list. He smiled and waved at the cheering students and cast an eye to the Slytherin table where the green-clad students politely clapped with glacial stiffness. The sight made Harry's grin broaden to genuine proportion. At least some things never changed. The table likely housed a number of persons Harry would have to track down and arrest in the future. Not that all bad apples were Slytherin. The prior month Harry had hauled in a serial arsonist that had gone through school in Hufflepuff house.

After dinner Harry made his way back to the library. Madam Pince's office was adjacent to the library with a connecting door. He wondered if her sleeping quarters were nearby and was somewhat surprised that she did not sleep in the library itself. He frowned at the uncharitable thought as he recalled Gunther Pokeby. Apparently there was far more to Madam Pince's life than sorting books.

He knocked politely and the door swung open. Madam Pince looked different and it took him a moment to realize he had never seen her without her pointed witch's hat. Her hair was mostly brown, but heavily streaked with grey. Without the shadow cast by the hat's brim, her face seemed more clearly lined with age. She looked tired and worn, like a dog-eared book.

"Come in, Mr. Potter. I confess to hoping you would depart rather than force me to dredge up ancient history, but I see it is not to be. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

Harry nodded, knowing the familiar act of preparing tea generally had a calming effect on people. She bustled about with a kettle and Harry seated himself on one of a pair of comfortable moss-coloured chairs.

"Why Gunther?" she asked. "Why now?"

"He conducted some rather unusual experiments after he left Hogwarts," Harry said carefully, uncertain whether or not she would take offense at any slight against Pokeby. "Something similar has cropped up, with dire consequences. We are looking into his notes to try to determine why. And hopefully to discover _who_."

She returned to Harry and held out a cup of tea for him to take. Her lips were set in a grim line. "Something similar?"

"How much do you know about Gunther's interests?" Harry held the delicate porcelain carefully and wondered why women seemed to prefer tableware that could be destroyed with an accidental clenching of fingers.

She shrugged and sat in the matching chair clutching her teacup without drinking. Harry's training prevented him from drinking at all, although he could maintain an adequate pretence of doing so. The Hogwart's librarian most likely had no reason to poison him, but Harry had survived this long as an Auror by taking few chances.

"I know why he was sent to Azkaban." She sighed. "He was obsessed. His whole family was obsessed, actually, but I had no idea how badly. It seemed a harmless notion when Gunther was young. It was in his blood, after all. He… fancied me once. I had great hopes for him, and for _us_, until he went to Egypt. I believe that was when everything changed."

Harry gave no sign of excitement, although his pulse leaped at the mention of Egypt. "What happened?"

Her gaze seemed far away. "It was flying. Always flying. Not on a broom, though. No, that was not good enough for the Pokeby family. They believed man should fly with wings like a bird. 'Think of it,' Gunther used to tell me, 'To be able to fly without the aid of a manmade object!' I laughed at him, once. He refused to speak to me for nearly a month, until I purchased him a book to beg his forgiveness. It was a Muggle book, of all things, but it was about an inventor who also thought men should fly. Of course, the Muggle was intelligent enough to be satisfied with manmade designs. He did not try to magically alter human beings!" Her voice cracked and she quickly took a sip of tea. Harry noticed her hands shaking.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely, although he was not certain why he apologized. For dredging up the past, certainly, but he was also sorry that Pokeby's odd obsession had created repercussions that reached beyond his death, and still brought pain to a woman who had possibly once loved him.

Madam Pince gave him a look reminiscent of a hundred expressions she had bestowed on him in the library on numerous occasions. "It is not your fault, Mr. Potter. Gunther was not himself. Sometimes I wonder if he was _ever_ himself, or if he simply followed the pattern handed down from father to son. Some people never shake the shadow of their parents." The statement reminded Harry sharply of Draco, living in the dubious shadow of Lucius Malfoy. Would he ever shake the grasping, egocentric, arrogant sense of superiority and entitlement granted him by Lucius? Did he even want to? Madam Pince went on and Harry tore his thoughts away from the Malfoy family.

"When he left Hogwarts he did some travelling. He was not ready to settle down, so he toured Europe with some of his friends. Everything was fine until they went to Egypt. Gunther found something there that made his obsession a thousand times worse. When he returned, he spent all of his time on research; he had none left for me."

"What was he researching?"

Her eyes pierced him. "I think you know. He was sent to Azkaban for it."

"Anakim."

She nodded. "Yes. He had found some sort of proof that Anakim had existed. He thought he could bring them back."

"Someone seems to have taken up the gauntlet of his research, recently. Do you know what materials Gunther used to attempt his potion? We are trying to locate anything that might have fallen into the wrong hands."

"Is it that serious?" she asked. "I mean, his theories never panned out. All his potions ever did was—"

"Kill people. Yes."

She winced and her voice was barely audible. "Has someone been killed?"

"No, but it was a near thing. I don't want it to happen, again." Thinking about it made Harry realize how close Malfoy had come to dying and he felt a shard of something uncomfortably close to horror. It was a sobering thought—he was actually beginning to care about the git. And _caring_ had very little to do with lust.

Madam Pince broke his reverie. "I don't know what he used for guidelines. The Ministry seized all of Gunther's belongings, did they not? I do have a couple of books about the Anakim, although I'm not sure how much use they will be. The stories are nothing but legends translated from Ancient Runic."

She gestured to a stack of books on the tea table; apparently she had anticipated Harry's line of questioning before his arrival. He set aside his untasted cup of tea and picked up the books. He only glanced at the titles before hefting the small stack and standing up.

"Thank you for your help. I know this must be difficult for you."

She scowled. "It was a long time ago, Mr. Potter. Just take care to bring the books back within three weeks or you will, of course, be charged a fine."

He blinked at her for a moment and her lips curled in a strange-looking grin. It took him a moment to realize it was odd merely because he had never seen the expression on her face, before. It was a smile.

"I am only joking, Mr. Potter. Keep them as long as necessary."

He forced a chuckle. Librarian humour. Lovely. "Thank you again. I'll bring them back. Oh, and one more thing. Do you know if Gunther spoke any foreign languages?"

She cocked a brow at him. "Not that I know of, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and moved toward the door, where he paused to look back. Madam Pince sipped her tea and stared out the window. Her gaze was far away.

~~ O ~~

Draco miraculously convinced Granger to call it a day by allowing her to take a large stack of pages home for perusal. She flitted around the room, double and triple checking the pile she had accumulated and muttering to herself. It became clear how Potter and the Weasel had managed to make it through Hogwarts with decent grades. The woman was a dynamo. Draco was exhausted. Of course, much of that might have been due to spending an uncomfortable night sleeping in a chair while cradling the Saviour of the Wizarding World in his lap.

Draco frowned, but before he could pursue that memory a silvery beast sprang through the window and charged at Granger, nearly startling Draco into flight. The dynamic wonder took it in stride, however, and waited as the stag halted and spoke with Potter's voice.

_Hi, Hermione. Apparently Gunther spoke no other languages, although I will keep asking to verify that for certain. It's probably safe to assume that his notes can convert back to the Queen's English and not French or Swedish, or something._ There was a momentary pause and then the message continued. _If you're still with Malfoy, tell him I apologize. I'll check in later._

The Patronus dissipated and Draco blinked at Granger in astonishment to find her expression mirroring his. He folded his wings back into place and contemplated the message.

"Harry apologized?" Granger said in a disbelieving tone. "He apologized to _you_? Where is my date book? I need to mark this down as an historical event. You should do the same, Malfoy. I'm not sure it will ever happen again."

Draco glared at her. "Don't sound so impressed. The bastard is trying to manipulate me. He does quite well at impersonating a Slytherin, at times."

"Manipulate?"

"Naturally. _I_ am the one who should have apologized. I made some… less than flattering remarks about Weasley's sister. I may have been out of line." He waved a hand at her knowing smile. "Regardless, by apologizing first, Potter is proving himself to be the better man. _Again_." It was maddening, really.

"You know, you might try focussing on the root of the issue rather than concentrating on this silly, juvenile competition with Harry."

"The root of the issue. And what might that be?" Draco demanded as he revised his opinion in reverse. Granger _was_ still an insufferable know-it-all.

"You should ask yourself if you really _are_ sorry for what you said to Harry. You obviously said something that upset him. The question is, does it bother you, and do you feel you should apologize? For once stop thinking of Harry as a rival and start thinking of him as a person. You might be surprised what you find."

He glared at her, unwilling to give credence to her words. "Are you always so damned cryptic?"

She laughed. "Heavens, no! Normally I'm dreadfully blunt. But I don't think you're quite ready for that."

Draco had to agree. She collected her stack of research materials.

"All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Send me an owl when you can bear to be tormented by my presence." She granted him a cheeky grin, waved her wand, and Disapparated. When she had gone, he pondered Potter's words.

_I'll check in later._ Check in with Granger… or with him? Most likely the Auror had meant Granger. Draco refused to acknowledge the foolish sliver of hope that Potter had meant otherwise.

Ignoring further thoughts of the irritating man, Draco went to bed.

~TBC~


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight**

_Because the heart beats under a covering of hair,_

of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason,

to be of no account?

-Jean Paul 

Draco stretched across his bed and groaned. He was sick of sleeping on his stomach. It was possible to sleep on his back, of course, but it was damned uncomfortable. He was not yet used to sleeping on his side—the weight of his wings always seemed to drag him down and he ended up fighting discomfort until he gave up and rolled onto his front. At least he did not have to worry about staying warm. He no longer had need of blankets, although sometimes he slid beneath the covers just for the sense of familiarity. And to pretend he was still normal.

He burrowed deeper into his pillows and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind turned to the puzzle of the encrypted journal. He went over the symbols a few times, most of which he had memorized. So far none of his and Granger's theories had panned out. Old Pokeby had been smarter than expected, the old Slytherin bastard. He wondered what time Granger planned to show up. Even though she had requested Draco send her an owl, he had no intention of doing so, and yet he knew that would not dissuade her. Granger was nothing if not determined. Oddly, she seemed ridiculously calm these days. He remembered when she had walloped him like a Muggle and wondered what it would take to rile her to such a stage now. He grinned. Probably not much. The mere mention of Weasley might do it.

Draco's grin disappeared when he thought about Weasley. Something had happened there, something large that neither she nor Potter wanted to discuss. He thought back to the few recent mentions of Weasley. Potter had changed the subject and Granger had fled the premises. Was it possible the triad had been shattered? Had Weasley's accident destroyed their impenetrable fortress of friendship?

Draco knew the Weasleys were not to be trusted. Ron Weasley had tossed Potter aside like a used sock during the beginning of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Everyone had known about it. Weasley's raving jealousy had turned on Potter, leaving the poor Chosen One a nearly friendless wreck. Draco had almost pitied him at the time. _Almost_. Well, perhaps not. Actually, he had felt Potter deserved it for choosing the redheaded wanker over him. It was possible Weasley's faithlessness had not altered over the years. Draco would have to take it up with Granger.

He sat up and slid his feet off the bed, suddenly anticipating Granger's visit. Digging up dirt on Potter was a pastime that never got old. He called for a house-elf to bring his breakfast.

~~ O ~~

Harry slept like the dead and awoke with a crick in his neck caused by sleeping in the same position for hours on end. He rolled out of bed and rubbed it with a groan while wondering where he had put his headache potions. He would ask Kreacher, but the house-elf would most likely want to _heal_ him, which was a bad idea, Harry knew from experience. Better to search the house for potions or suffer in silence.

He staggered to the kitchen to find a pot of steaming hot tea waiting and felt momentary guilt about having uncharitable thoughts toward Kreacher. The first cup alleviated much of his pain and the house-elf popped in a moment later with a bowl of porridge prepared just the way Harry liked it.

"Thanks, Kreacher."

"Will Master Harry be needing anything today?"

"I don't think so. I have to go to the Ministry and check in with Kingsley. And I will most likely stop in and see Hermione." He ignored the house-elf's disapproving look and added, "I will either have lunch with her or eat out, somewhere. No need to prepare anything."

"Will Master Harry be coming home this evening?"

Harry glanced at the elf, wondering if there was a note of censure for Harry's absence the previous night. "Yes, I should be. Do you want me to send an owl if I plan to eat elsewhere?"

Kreacher sniffed. "Master Harry is not needing to answer to Kreacher. Master Harry is to be doing whatever Master Harry is pleasing and not to be paying attention to worthless house-elves like Kreacher."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, although a grin was even more difficult to suppress. "Very well, Kreacher. Expect me for dinner. I will owl you if my plans change."

"Master Harry is doing as Master Harry chooses."

Harry nodded and finished his porridge before he returned to his room to dress. He folded Malfoy's robes carefully and made a mental note to drop them off at Ladrigan's for professional cleaning. Nothing but the best for Malfoy. Harry's fingers caressed the soft fabric for a moment, wishing he could put the robes back on. They were exceptional. He made another mental note to purchase a similar set and grinned at the thought of Malfoy's expression if Harry should pop in to the Manor dressed in a stunning set of robes.

He sighed and reprimanded himself for caring about Malfoy's opinion. Malfoy would always think of him as inferior and it was stupid to assume otherwise. Harry pulled on his boots, grabbed his wand, and Apparated to the Ministry.

Harry's accumulated paperwork took a couple of hours, even though his only official case right now was Malfoy's. Luckily, things were slow—winter was generally a lax time for crime. Even bad apples preferred to stay inside during the cold season and huddle near their fireplaces with comfort food and hot drinks.

He combated a growing sense of disquiet as he worked. Something niggled at him and he finally shoved the last piece of parchment into the file and tossed it toward his Outbox with a sigh. As if completion of his task unlocked a floodgate in his mind, he suddenly realized what had been bothering him. Malfoy. He missed Malfoy.

Harry sighed and rested his elbows on his desk while his fingers massaged his temples. _Merlin. What a bloody mess._ He shoved away from his desk and went to find Kingsley. It was Sunday, but the Minister had a tendency to work seven days a week, as did Harry. A search of the executive office turned out to be a waste of time. A quick Fire-call to Kingsley's irritated Undersecretary informed Harry that the Minister had an appointment in Cornwall and would return the following day. Harry debated returning to his office, but thought it might be more productive to review the books he had received from Madam Pince. Then again, it would be smarter to hand them over to Hermione and let her do the reviewing. Research, after all, was not at all Harry's forte. He expected her to be in her office, as Hermione tended to work through the weekend and take off a day or two midweek.

His trip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement turned out to be yet another waste of time. One of Hermione's Ravenclawish cohorts informed him that Hermione had taken a few days holiday. Harry scowled and wondered that she had not bothered to tell him. Had she seriously taken time off to work on Malfoy's case? Was she with Malfoy even now? The thought nearly made Harry Apparate straight to the Manor, but he remembered at the last moment that he had left the books at home. It would be idiotic to show up without them.

He decided to Floo home rather than waste energy Apparating, and entered the lift to return to the Lobby. The elevator was nearly empty but for a boisterous group that exited on the Games and Sports Level—Quidditch was going strong in Australia right now and a big match was coming up. Harry grinned. Their excitement was contagious. His smiled froze when Ginny Weasley bypassed the exiting crowd and joined him in the lift. She smiled at him happily. "Harry! Fancy meeting you here! It must be fate. Do you have plans for lunch?"

Harry suppressed a groan of frustration and forced a smile. "No, but I am about to meet—" He barely choked back Hermione's name, remembering their last ridiculous argument. Her eyes narrowed and he finished, "…Kingsley."

"He's in Cornwall. I thought everyone knew that."

Harry nodded as if remembering. "Right. I had forgotten."

"So, then. Lunch?"

A dozen excuses flitted through Harry's mind and were quickly discarded one at a time. She would see through any dissembling and he would pay for it later. He frantically tried to turn the tables. "What are you doing in Games and Sports? I thought you Unspeakables did not mingle with the common folk."

She smiled enigmatically and Harry remembered yet another reason why he had broken up with her. Ginny was entirely too fond of her secretive job and took far too much pleasure in hoarding the ambiguity of her work. "I can't tell you that, Harry. But I will tell you it has something to do with the Australian Nationals. We're trying to make sure the Queensland team is not cheating. There have been some anomalies reported with the brooms and we're working with the G and S folk to prevent anything spoiling the World Cup next year."

Harry nodded and wondered dryly if the Unspeakables had to empty their memories into a Pensieve once a week to see if they had divulged any departmental secrets. Normally Ginny was silent as the dead about her work, but if it involved Quidditch she could never resist giving out a tidbit or two. Ron had always eaten it up and pestered her mercilessly for details. Harry still loved Quidditch, but the politics behind the games held little interest for him. He dealt with too much intrigue on a daily basis. He wondered idly what Malfoy's opinion would be on the subject and nearly smiled at the thought. No doubt he and the blond would get into a rollicking argument on the subject.

"Are you listening, Harry?" Ginny asked, possibly for the second or third time. Harry dragged his thoughts away from Malfoy—again—and scowled at her.

"I'm sorry; I completely wandered off on a tangent there. Quidditch and all, you know. I think New South Wales will take Nationals if Queensland doesn't cheat."

Ginny immediately launched into a debate that occupied them until they reached the Lobby. Before Harry could escape to the nearest Floo, Ginny grabbed his arm. "Lunch, then?"

Unable to think of a reasonable excuse, Harry nodded and forced a smile. "Yeah, but in the cafeteria, if that's okay. I have some reports that need filing."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you were meeting Kingsley, why did you come _down_ the lift?"

"Visitor check," he lied blithely. "Routine. My turn on the queue. Be right back."

He escaped her company and hurried to the reception desk.

"Auror Potter!" Myra gushed. "How nice to see you."

"Hi, Myra. Can you let me see the guest catalogue, please? I'm trying to see if we had a particular visitor yesterday."

"Of course," she said with a serious mien and allowed him to view the book. He made a show of flipping through the pages, although not a single name registered. Harry drew out the process as long as possible, until the tapping of Ginny's foot snared his peripheral vision. Reluctantly, he handed the book back to Myra. "Thank you. It all seems to be in order."

Having no further stalling tactics at hand, Harry held out his arm and escorted Ginny back to the third floor where the Ministry cafeteria resided. He would rather have spent the hour shouting at Malfoy.

~~ O ~~

Granger appeared at what was normally, for Draco, an obscene hour. No self-respecting pureblood awakened before eleven in the morning and nine o' clock was nearly ridiculous. Draco was ready for her, however, and had already breakfasted, bathed, and returned to the study to scan the journal pages. He raised a brow when the house-elf announced her.

"Granger. I expected you an hour ago."

She laughed, damn her. "Of course you did. Have you had any luck?"

Considering Draco had only spent eight minutes preparing for her arrival, it was unlikely. He scowled and shook his head.

"Well, I have. I woke up early and approached it from a different angle. We had a case last year involving a similar set of writings, so I pulled out the case file…" Granger's explanatory words washed over Draco and he listened with half an ear while his mind wandered. He could tell by her suppressed excitement that she had made some sort of breakthrough and would get to the revelation eventually. Draco's mind was more occupied with wondering how to broach the subject of Potter. Had the Auror contacted her? How had his trip to Hogwarts gone? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but he did not want to see her gaze turn calculating, as it seemed to do every time he mentioned Potter.

"…and therefore this character denotes Y and is used in several places instead of A or E. Tricky, wasn't he?"

"Very," Draco agreed, paying attention for the first time. He frowned and tracked back over her conversation before snatching up a piece of parchment and applying her concept. Granger did the same and they were silent for long minutes, both scribbling furiously. "Bloody hell, I think that's it!"

They tested the theory on several journal pages and finally managed to get the translation into a workable order.

"All right, let's start on these potions," she suggested and pointed to several pages tacked to the wall. There were a ludicrous number of them and it took nearly an hour to translate the titles alone. Granger rubbed the small of her back and shot him an enigmatic look when a house-elf popped in with a tray of assorted drinks and meat pies.

Draco drained a glass of butterbeer and picked up a sausage pasty. Granger joined him after shooting a disapproving look at the house-elf. Draco was surprised she had not yet gifted him with a tirade about freeing his house-elves. He knew she was still an activist for "house-elf rights" even though it was patently ridiculous to try and give the creatures something they did not want. Dobby had been an aberration and was shunned by his own kind.

"I think we're finally making some progress," she said and took the tray from the elf to set it upon a nearby table after shoving aside the parchment. The house-elf gave Draco a questioning look and he nodded. The elf bowed and disappeared. Granger picked up a glass of lemonade and sipped at it. "Do you recognize any of these potions?"

Draco set his empty glass aside and perused the potion recipes. "Maybe. A couple of them look familiar. _Somnifacia_. That one induces a hypnotic state, correct?"

She nodded. "That sounds right." She frowned. "Do you have a potions book handy? I'm certain I can find the recipe at home; we can compare the ingredients listed with those here and make certain he did not change quantities. Do any others seem familiar? I would like to spot check a few, if possible, before we try brewing."

"Here is another. _Plumafiore_. I'm certain that one is in the Standard Book of Potions. I have it in the library." Ignoring her doubtless censuring look, Draco summoned a house-elf and requested the manual in question, along with every other potions book in the Manor. Granger Transfigured a small end table into a large desk to hold them all. After several more hours of study, they located both potions and began the comparative analysis.

Draco was proud of himself for not mentioning Potter once.

~~ O ~~

Lunch was torment. Ginny thankfully kept the conversation to neutral ground, asking about some of Harry's prior cases and discussing mutual friends. She did, however, continually reach across the table to touch his hand and laughed too loudly at even the vaguest amusing comments. Harry glanced around each time she did so and wondered which of the eagle-eyed patrons of the Ministry cafeteria would be the first to call the _Daily Prophet_. It would have been worse to eat at a local restaurant. Somehow the photographers always located him in public places.

"You are coming to dinner tonight, aren't you, Harry?" Ginny asked and he nearly winced. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten the weekly Weasley dinner. After the last "family" dinner and his subsequent confrontation with Ron, Harry was in no mood to sit through another awkward meal.

"Um… no, actually. I have to question a witness about a case. Tonight is the only time he has available." He was almost mortified at how smoothly the lie tripped from his tongue. "I was planning to owl your mother, unless you want to break the news for me? I doubt I will be missed."

She frowned. "Of course you will be missed, Harry." She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his even though he had clenched it tightly around his water glass to prevent such an action. "You know _I_ will miss you."

Harry forced a smile and shook her hand free by making a show of gulping at his water. "Thanks, Gin. That means a lot." _ And the lies just keep on coming_. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood. "And thanks for having lunch with me. I hate to cut this short, but I really need to do some research before I meet with my… client tonight."

Her lips drew into a thin line that he knew denoted annoyance, but she forced a smile that stretched them into something resembling a smile. It occurred to him that she did not look especially attractive when she tried to fake emotion. The winter was also doing horrible things to her skin, making the freckles stand out in stark relief on her white skin. Harry cringed inwardly at his uncharitable thoughts. Just because he was not interested did not mean he had to demean her. "Of course, Harry. I know how busy you are." He paused for a moment, wondering if he had imagined the sarcasm, but he shrugged it off.

"Well, thanks. And you'll tell your mum for me, right?"

"I'll let her know. And Ron, too."

Harry nodded, but his jaw tightened. That had definitely been a dig to make him feel guilty. Harry was of half a mind to tell her that he would feel concern for Ron's feelings as soon as Ron stopped acting like such a fuckwit. Naturally, that thought brought on genuine remorse and he walked as quickly as possible to the lift to escape it. He began to wonder why he had even come to the Ministry.

The question was still on his mind when a large someone jostled him as he entered the lift, nearly shoving him into the wall. Harry turned in annoyance and decided that some higher power had it in for him when he met the vapid gaze of Gregory Goyle.

"Oi, hey, Potter. Didn't see you there," Goyle said in a dull tone edged with maliciousness. He knew Goyle would have said the exact same phrase after "accidentally" jostling Harry off a thousand foot cliff.

"Sure, Goyle," Harry replied. He sidled into a corner of the elevator near the door in order to make a quick escape when it opened again. "How goes the security business?"

"Fine," Goyle grunted with a sidelong look at Harry. Goyle worked in Hermione's department as sort of a glorified security guard. His job mainly consisted of standing around looking intimidating. Harry had to admit he was good at it. Goyle had always resembled an American football linebacker with his huge hamlike fists and simian brow. His biceps were larger around than Harry's thighs. Other than growing even larger and scarier, Goyle looked much the same as he had at Hogwarts, except that he was missing two things: Crabbe and Malfoy. Each time Harry saw him he thought Goyle looked like a large shadow of himself. He wondered if Goyle and Malfoy were still friends.

"Any luck findin' the bastards did that to Draco?" Goyle asked suddenly and Harry gaped at him. Malfoy had told _Goyle_? Apparently they _were_ still friends, although it quite shocked Harry to learn that Malfoy had revealed his condition to someone as seemingly witless as Gregory Goyle. He was surprised that the news of Malfoy's wings had not hit the papers.

"You know about his…?"

"Wings. Yeah. Pretty low to do that to a pureblood."

Harry nodded.

"No luck with the case then? Or are ya even tryin'?" The question was delivered with a sneer.

Harry's gaze narrowed as the lift slowed and halted. "Of course I'm trying. It's my job and I take it very seriously."

Goyle snorted. "Sure you do, Potter. You prob'ly love seein' Draco like he is now. I bet you're workin' real hard to find a cure and bring the culprits in."

The doors opened and Harry managed to suppress the urge to hex the huge man with something like the disgusting Bat Bogey Hex Ginny used to favour.

He settled for a snarled, "Fuck you, Goyle" as he exited the lift and walked to the nearest fireplace to Floo home. It was wrapping up to be a miserable day.

~~ O ~~

Draco flexed his wings a few times and made a small moue of approval. He had to admit the things were damned handy for working out kinks near the shoulder blades. He rotated his pinions a couple of times, but stopped when he caught Granger watching him. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

She shrugged. "You look surprisingly good with wings. They suit you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "They would suit me better if they were gone."

"I know. I'm sorry." She turned away to jot a few more scribbles on the parchment before her. They had effectively broken Pokeby's code by determining the verisimilitude of the potion ingredients. After that they had deciphered a number of the potions in Pokeby's journal. Granger had made a list of ingredients. They would try brewing the more curious-looking ones to try and replicate the one Draco had ingested. With luck—notably in short supply lately—they could attempt an antidote or counter-potion.

"What happened with Weasley?" Draco asked suddenly.

Granger stiffened as though hit with a Stunner. Draco could tell she wanted to pack up her quill and leave, but she was only halfway through her current list. Her lips thinned. "I would prefer not to talk about him."

"It was the accident, was it not? I read about it."

A muscle twitched in her jaw and he wondered if she actually ground her teeth. Her reply was clipped. "Yes. It was the accident."

"Did he turn on Potter?" Draco asked quietly.

Granger's brown eyes met his and for a moment he was sorry for asking. The anger was apparent, but sorrow nearly overwhelmed it. "Yes," she said curtly.

"And you?" Draco's voice was a whisper. He expected her to refrain from comment at best and at worst to take her things and depart.

Granger looked away and dipped her quill in the ink several times, watching the black liquid drip back into the bottle. It reminded Draco of blood.

"Yes. It was understandable, at first. He was wounded and upset. The Healers could do nothing for him. It was normal to lash out." Her voice was quiet but fervent. "Harry was always there, always supportive. We both did everything we could. But Ron…" Her voice broke and the quill hovered over the inkwell, dripping. Draco said nothing. "Ron became angrier. He never actually blamed Harry, but it was apparent with every word and every action. Mostly I think he resented Harry for having a normal life and…"

"And for always coming out on top," Draco added in a soft tone.

She looked at him with a bitter sort of smile. "Yes. Ron always had difficulty understanding that nothing came easy for Harry. Ron was a bit thick when it came to seeing beyond the obvious. He never knew how much Harry envied him."

Draco blinked at her. "Potter envied Weasley?"

She glared at him and jabbed the quill viciously back into the ink before tapping it on the glass rim. "I was right. You don't know Harry at all."

"What do you mean Potter envied Weasley?"

"Ron had everything Harry did not. Ron had an enormous, loving family and Harry had no one. I suppose Ron was jealous of Harry's fame and his perceived wealth, but those things meant nothing to Harry." She shrugged and began to write once more. "Maybe it's true that we always want what we cannot have. For some of us the lack festers. Ron's resentment became too much for him… and too much for me."

Draco wished he had not pursued the question at all. He had not expected to open raw wounds. Well, perhaps he had, but he had not anticipated the pity he would feel, not only for Granger, but for Potter, as well. In a sense, Draco could sympathize with Weasley; he had also spent his Hogwart's years envying Potter. But to turn on him like a rabid dog? Would Draco do such a thing? He realized it was a moot point, since he had never had a friendship as close as Potter's and Weasley's had been. He frowned.

"Now you know," Granger said tightly when the scratching of her quill became the only sound in the room.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, even though he was not completely sure what he apologized for—bringing up the subject, or the fact that Weasley was an arse? Possibly both.

Her head snapped around and she stared at him. "Sorry? First Harry and now you? This is a banner week for contrition."

Draco grinned. "I have an excuse. I am not in my right mind, remember?"

She laughed. "Your mind seems to be the thing least affected by your transformation."

Draco feigned a gasp. "Was that a compliment? From you?"

"Apparently it is a wondrous day. Harry likes you," she said. He looked at her without comment and she laughed again at his lack of expression. "I'm serious."

"He told you this?"

"Not in so many words, of course. But I can tell."

Draco wondered when she had lost her wits. Perhaps it had something to do with Weasley's defection. It had unhinged her.

A house-elf popped into the room. "Master Draco is receiving a Fire-call from Harry Potter, sir."

Draco's smile fled. "Is he looking for me, or Granger?"

"Harry Potter is asking for Master Draco, sir."

He could not suppress the smirk of triumph that he threw in Granger's direction and she actually giggled. She said, "What did I tell you? Maybe Harry wants to extend his apology in person."

"More likely he wants to take it back."

"Just go get him."

Draco went.

~~ O ~~

Harry tried Hermione at home and decided she was still with Malfoy when there was no answer. The realization twisted his insides unpleasantly until he shook off the nonsensical idea. Still, Hermione had been there nearly all of yesterday and now today… _Research_, Harry reminded himself. _She is helping Malfoy with research_.

Even if she wasn't with Malfoy for research alone, it was no business of Harry's. Malfoy was straight, after all, and Hermione was attractive and single. He snorted softly at his ridiculous thoughts. Malfoy was a pureblood; he considered Hermione to be tainted and unworthy. _Even now? Now that he admits to himself that he is no longer even human?_

Harry glared at nothing and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. The house-elf answering the Fire-call took his (or her) sweet time locating Malfoy. His knees began to ache. Harry nearly gave up before Malfoy's handsome face appeared in the flames.

"Potter," he said noncommittally.

"Malfoy. Is Hermione with you?"

"She is back in our makeshift laboratory. If it was Granger you wanted, why did you not ask for her?"

"No, I…" Harry swallowed and barely choked back the truth. It would be the height of idiocy to admit he wanted to see the blond. "I wanted to know how you two were doing with the journal."

"Then come through, Potter. Timidity does not become you."

Harry scowled. "It's not timidity, Malfoy, I just wasn't sure I was still welcome."

Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, looking almost demonic in the flames. Demonically beautiful. "Potter, you do amuse me, at times. Come through."

Harry stood and threw a handful of powder into the flames. "Malfoy Manor!" he called loudly after snatching up the books Madam Pince had given him. He stepped out without staggering, for once, and stood before the winged Malfoy with a sardonic grin. Malfoy turned and gestured imperiously.

"Come along, Potter. Granger has been very productive, as I'm sure you expected."

Harry nodded and then followed him through the halls until they reached a small room. Hermione got to her feet and ran to give Harry an exuberant hug, nearly causing him to drop the books.

"I just saw you yesterday," Harry said dryly into her hair, surprised at the greeting.

"Shush, you. I can miss you if I please." She stepped back, however, and then bustled around the room, picking up parchment here and there while explaining their findings. Harry had to laugh as he set his burden on a nearby desk. He was almost fascinated by her dissertation, but found himself quickly distracted by Malfoy's occasional interjections. Soon he gave up all pretence of interest and merely watched the blond, who had launched into complex potions theory. The bottom line seemed to be that they were going to try to recreate the potion that had—possibly—been used on him. Harry's brow wrinkled, but he decided it would be a bad idea to mention the possible futility of the effort. Even Hermione had admitted that the changes to Malfoy were likely irreversible.

Their presentation finally ended and Hermione asked, "How did your trip to Hogwarts go?"

Harry shrugged. "Interesting, to say the least. Hagrid says hi; and so does McGonagall. I had an enlightening conversation with Madam Pince." He explained Gunther Pokeby's relationship with the Hogwart's librarian and Malfoy nearly guffawed with poorly suppressed amusement.

"I suppose that explains Pince's sterling personality," he said. "Unrequited love. Who knew?"

"That's so sad," Hermione said. "I wonder if Gunther ever knew how she felt?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably. I think his obsession just meant more to him, in the long run. She gave me several books on the Anakim." He gestured at the books on the desk. "I glanced through them, but, as she said, they are mainly legends. I'm not sure how useful they will be."

Hermione went through the stack curiously and Malfoy hovered over her shoulder to read the titles. They bickered over the tomes in a friendly fashion, causing Harry's jealousy to rear its ugly head once more, but he wrestled it down and turned away to stare blindly at the journal pages tacked to the wall. In the end, Hermione and Malfoy divided the books somewhat amicably.

Hermione collected her assorted parchment with a smile, after shrinking the Anakim tomes and packing them into her bag. "Draco, I will try to locate the ingredients we agreed upon. I won't see you tomorrow unless I happen to collect them all, which is a very remote possibility. Harry, I'm taking a couple of days off from work in order to concentrate on this. The longer we wait, the more elusive the culprits will become."

Harry grinned at her and then felt his face freeze when Hermione paused before leaving the room. She leaned close to Malfoy and whispered in his ear. Malfoy's features revealed nothing as Hermione's fingers clamped lightly over his sleeved arm and squeezed. She glanced over her shoulder. "'Night, Harry."

"Bye, Hermione," he said in a somewhat normal tone of voice. _I must not hex my friend_, he chanted to himself. He tried to smile when Malfoy turned toward him, but he was sure it looked more like the painted-on grin of a clown.

"Are you staying, Potter?" Malfoy asked mildly.

"I— No. I just… I doubt I can be more helpful than Hermione and you're probably tired…"

"I am not tired in the least. Were you not planning to teach me that spell with the owl feather?"

He blinked at Malfoy in surprise. "Do you really want to learn such a silly spell? It's not exactly useful."

"All spells are useful, Potter, depending on the situation."

Harry nodded, inordinately pleased to spend more time with the blond, although he was not certain why Malfoy wanted him to stay. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right, Potter, I'm always right."

Harry rolled his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion, earning a smack on the arm from the tip of one wing. The movement surprised a laugh from him as he rubbed his bicep. "Do you have an owl feather handy?"

"Does it have to be from an owl, or will any feather work?"

Harry shrugged. "Any feather, I suppose. Even a quill."

Malfoy reached up and yanked a snowy feather from one wing, startling Harry with the motion. Malfoy handed it to him wordlessly and their fingers touched briefly when he took it. Harry felt a touch of awe as he stroked the soft plume. It was a tiny thing, not quite as long as his index finger, and just as soft as he remembered. He forced himself not to caress it beyond that one initial stroke.

"Great. Um, well, then…" He moved closer to Malfoy and pulled out his wand. "The incantation is _Celo Nuntius_. It would be nice if more than one or two words would fit on each feather, but Hermione could never make it work."

He demonstrated the wand movement several times and watched while Malfoy practiced it. He had nearly forgotten what a quick study the Slytherin was. The blond picked up the required motions and inflections rapidly. After a few tries, Malfoy inscribed a message on the white feather. Harry turned it over and examined it closely. Nothing was visible.

"Excellent. The revealing spell is _Aperio Nuntius_."

Harry cast the spell on the feather and four dark letters appeared. PRAT. He glared at Malfoy with effort, choking back a laugh. "Very funny." He cast a spell of his own and trained Malfoy to use the revealing spell. Malfoy uncovered the word TWIT and their messages degenerated rapidly after that.

~~ O ~~

Draco snatched the feather from Potter's fingers with a mock glare. The Auror was laughing so hard Draco thought he might topple over.

"Plonk?" Draco asked. "What the hell is a _plonk_?"

Potter gasped for breath. "Plonker, obviously! It wouldn't fit."

"You couldn't think of anything shorter?"

"We already used arse, twat, wanker, wally, pleb, berk, moron, and goit. Thank you for that one, by the way. Tosser wouldn't fit, nor would pillock. I'm afraid I'm scraping the bottom of my insult barrel, although I'm certain your superior intellect can go all night."

"Thank you for recognizing that, Potter," Draco said with a smirk. "You acknowledge my victory, then?"

Potter snorted. "I didn't know we were competing, but yes, if it's that vital to your existence, I admit that you win."

Draco stroked the feather lightly. The thing was surprisingly resilient, having survived their spells and annoyed snatching with barely a ruffle on the edges. The bloody feather had hurt like a bitch coming out, though, and he vowed never to do _that_ again. The effects of his foolish impulse still throbbed hotly from the spot the feather had formerly occupied, sending an ache all the way down his wing and into his shoulder. Damn his wings for being so sensitive. It felt like he had gouged the pinion out with a white-hot knife.

He glanced at Potter, whose eyes were fixed on the feather in his hand. He tossed it haphazardly toward the Auror. "You can keep it," Draco said casually. "I can't exactly reattach it, and you should have a reminder of my _superior intellect_."

Potter grabbed the fluttering bit of fluff out of the air and grinned at him before wrapping his fingers around the feather protectively and clutching it to his heart. "I will treasure it always," he said reverently and then batted his lashes at Draco in a girlish fashion.

Draco whacked him with the edge of his wing, catching the Auror on one hip as he tried to dance out of range. Potter laughed. "Not fair!"

"All's fair in—" Draco began and then looked away as he felt a flush tint his cheeks. "Never mind. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Potter slipped the feather into his robes and shook his head. "I promised Kreacher I would be home for dinner. For a house-elf, he can be very demanding. If I don't pay attention to him once in a while he sort of 'forgets' to clean my room. I admit I've grown a bit lazy having him around."

Draco made a clucking sound. "Don't let Granger hear you say that."

"I know! At least she finally stopped insisting I free Kreacher. I tried it once when she was with me and he pitched such a fit I thought the house might implode. She hasn't brought it up since. Um… you can come to dinner at my place, if you'd like."

Draco looked at him in surprise and instantly began to filter through possible ulterior motives to the Auror's invitation. He frowned.

"You don't have to, of course!" Potter said quickly. "I just thought… you know… I keep eating here, so I should probably return the favour sometime and..."

Draco nodded, alternately relieved and annoyed. Repayment. A Gryffindor trait. "I have been neglecting Mother recently, so I assured her I would dine with her this evening. It's probably better you don't join us or she would question you mercilessly about the case."

Potter looked guilty for a moment and Draco felt a flare of regret. He had not meant to make Potter feel inadequate for not producing faster results. Draco wanted to find the culprits, of course, but the urgency had waned somewhat with his growing enjoyment of Potter's company. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was coming to like the git and would be less than happy to see the last of him.

"I should probably meet with her soon, anyway," Potter said. "She deserves an update, even though I have not found much of use. I don't know if the Pokeby angle will even produce results. Anyone could have followed his work. In fact, I should probably go back to Hogwarts and see if I can dig up some information regarding his close friends, or anyone that might have been privy to his research."

Draco sighed at Potter's return to Auror-mode. He nodded, picking up Potter's cue and shrugging off nonsensical thoughts of friendship. Were his wings turning him into a Hufflepuff? "All right, then. Will you Apparate, or do you prefer to use the Floo?"

Potter seemed to stiffen slightly. "I think I'll use the Floo, if you don't mind. I'm rather tired."

"Very well. Shall I see you out, or can you remember the way?"

"I can manage."

"Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Malfoy."

Draco watched as Potter strode to the door and left without looking back. For some reason, he felt something had gone fundamentally awry.

~~ TBC ~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine**

_I might have been born in a hovel,_

but I determined to travel

with the wind and the stars.

-Jackie Cochran

Harry walked down the long, thickly-carpeted hallway, dimly aware that he was being shadowed by a house-elf, but too preoccupied to toy with it by touching the various vases and statuettes he passed as he walked. Teaching Malfoy the feather-writing spell had been almost… fun. What had changed?

For a moment he considered Flooing Kreacher and cancelling dinner, but he knew the house-elf would act put-out for days if Harry begged off so close to mealtime. And the thought of eating with Narcissa Malfoy was rather an appetite killer. She would doubtless demand to know every facet of Harry's investigation and he had precious little to divulge.

Harry paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back down the hallway, as though expecting to see Malfoy lurking in the shadows behind him. He grimaced at his wishful thinking. The hallway was empty. Even the house-elf was invisible, having quickly hidden himself or Apparated away before Harry turned.

He sighed and headed down the long stairs, walking slowly when he noticed a large gallery of photos lining one wall of the stairwell. Most of them were pictures of Draco as a boy. Harry grinned as he perused them, knowing Malfoy would be mortified at the thought of Harry admiring his childhood memories. There was Malfoy hovering on a broom in the courtyard, waving happily; and as a baby, cooing with delight as he shook a large rattle that looked suspiciously serpentine. And Malfoy standing near the Hogwarts Express, obviously on his first day of school. Harry stared at that one for a long time as his thoughts travelled back to that long-ago day. How different would things have been if he had met Draco before Ron?

He frowned, remembering young Draco sticking out a hand in friendship while Ron stood staunchly by him, egging on his rejection of the blond. Now the tables had turned and it was Harry asking for friendship while Ron… well, Ron had pretty much left Harry adrift. He bit his lip for a moment, wondering if he was simply seeking a replacement for Ron; someone to salve the hole left by the loss of his best friend.

His thoughts returned to Draco and a surge of _want_ nearly left him gasping. Bloody hell, apparently he wasn't trying to replace Ron. He definitely wanted the blond in an entirely different way—friendship had little to do with it.

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the tiny feather as he continued down the stairs. He stroked it softly, marvelling at the feel of it. At the bottom of the stairs a photo caught his eye and he paused to stare at it appreciatively.

It had to have been fairly recent, as Malfoy looked just as he did now—only without the wings, of course. He stood before a fireplace Harry had not seen before, intricately carved of dark marble. Malfoy's pale hair stood out in bright contrast against the dark background, as well as his hand where it rested on the black mantle.

As he watched, Malfoy turned his head to look at the camera and a smile curved his beautiful lips. It was an expression Harry had never seen before, one of completely relaxed joy. Harry wondered what had made Malfoy so happy—he thought the blond might laugh before the movement stopped and then restarted with him looking into the distance.

Harry watched it several times with his heart leaping each time the silver eyes lit up. Fuck, he had it bad. He reached up and traced the edge of the photo, wishing he could step into the scene and wishing even more that _he_ might cause such an expression to light the face of Draco Malfoy.

His fingers strayed from the frame into the photo to trace the edge of Malfoy's face, glad that photos were more stagnant than paintings—he did not have to worry that Malfoy's expression would turn glacial or that he would storm away to inhabit another portrait.

"Auror Potter?" he heard and snatched his hand away guiltily. He felt like a child with his hand in the sweets jar when his eyes met those of Narcissa Malfoy. He struggled not to stammer and managed it—barely.

"Mrs. Malfoy."

"Auror Potter, is there some reason you are fondling my son's photograph?"

Harry strove to fight off a blush while trying vainly to think of a response to her question. Luckily, he was spared when she turned with a rustle of thick robes.

"Walk with me," she ordered.

Harry would rather have walked a tour of Azkaban, but he obediently followed. His mind whirled. Had he really been _fondling_ Malfoy's photo?

She led him what seemed a ridiculous distance until Harry determined she was probably taking him as far from Draco as possible. When she finally entered a dimly lit room, he actually wished the manor was a bit larger if only to put off the inevitable conversation for just a few minutes longer. She lit a fire with a murmured spell and flames flickered to life. The fireplace was larger than the one in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts, and yet Harry wondered how long it would take the gigantic fire to warm the massive space, which had a distinct chill. The light from the flames did not begin to reach the edges of the room; it retained an air of dark foreboding.

"Please sit down, Auror Potter," she said pleasantly and seated herself with the same grace he admired often in her son.

Harry sat. The sofa was dark, possibly even black, and he hoped he wouldn't sit on anything hidden in the dim lighting.

"So. Tell me about your investigation," she continued.

With relief, Harry launched into a babbling tale of some of the things he had done while searching for Draco's assailants. He recounted the innocence, the alibis, and the general dead-ends of the primary list of suspects. On the verge of spilling the details of their discovery of Pokeby's potions, Harry wisely reined in his tongue. He remembered Draco speaking of Narcissa's obsession with locating the potion to find a counter-agent. If she knew what Draco and Hermione were working on, she would poke her nose in and drive them utterly raving mad. If Draco wanted her to know, he would surely have told her by now, would he not?

"It sounds like you've found nothing."

Harry flushed. They had found _something_, but even Harry considered it little more than a waste of time. "It has been difficult. I'm not giving up," he assured her.

"No, I imagine not," she said mildly. There was a long pause and Harry tried to think of something to fill the silence, but he had used up his list of facts during the previous round of babbling. "Tell me, Auror Potter. How do you feel about my son?"

Harry flushed and looked away. He raised a hand as if to tug at his hair, but caught himself and lowered it guiltily. He splayed his fingers over his thighs, determined to keep them there, and felt uncomfortable dampness from his palms. "I… Well, I like him well enough," Harry said lamely.

"Really? It seems you like him a bit more than that, judging by your expression when you gazed at his portrait. Do you fancy yourself in love with him?" The question was sharp and completely unexpected. Harry had always thought Slytherins were incapable of bluntness.

"Of course not!" he replied.

"What is it, then? Do you have a penchant for creatures? A weakness for oddities? I have heard of men with proclivity toward the bizarre, of attraction for mermaids and centaurs and their ilk." Harry gaped at her, astounded by her words and the rising tone of her normally quiet voice. "Draco told me you rebuffed his attempts at friendship in school. Have your feelings changed now that he is little more than a _freak_?"

Harry shot to his feet as anger suffused his features. "Don't call him that!" he snapped.

Narcissa rose and stood before him with a glower. She was intimidating despite the fact that he was taller. He knew her wand was quick to hand somewhere beneath her sleeve. Her voice was venomous. "He _is_ a freak, Mr. Potter. He is little more than an animal and I will not stand for it!"

"I am doing all that I can!" Harry retorted.

"See that you are. Despite your attraction to my son in his current state, Mr. Potter, you had better make every possible effort to see him returned to normal and his assailants brought to justice."

Harry made an effort to relax his clenched fists. "I will do my job, Mrs. Malfoy."

She straightened and a cool mask seemed to settle over her angry features, smoothing them back into a calm façade. "I hope so, Mr. Potter. For your sake."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, absently noting that she seemed to have permanently dropped his title.

She shrugged and walked toward the fireplace. "I merely remind you that Lucius will be out of Azkaban before long. I have managed, so far, to keep the news of Draco's condition from him. It will not remain secret for long. Even I know that I cannot keep Draco trapped in the Manor, caged like some sort of animal."

Harry bit back an angry retort, nearly pointing out that she had referred to Draco as an animal mere moments ago.

"I will not be responsible for Lucius's actions, should the news reach him in Azkaban."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What can he possibly do from Azkaban?" he asked dryly.

Narcissa Malfoy turned and fixed Harry with a steady stare. She looked like an elemental of flame standing before the flickering light of the fire, beautiful and deadly. A smile curved her lips and Harry felt a chill travel up his spine. Could Lucius wield power from his prison cell? Harry's eyes narrowed. The Malfoy fortune certainly had not suffered during the elder Malfoy's confinement. Harry vowed to do some investigation in to the inner workings of Azkaban.

"Good night, Mrs. Malfoy," he said firmly.

"Good night, Mr. Potter," she said sweetly. "I trust you can see yourself out?"

Harry nodded curtly, spun on a heel, and left Malfoy Manor as quickly as possible.

It had not been one of his better days.

~~ O ~~

Draco had little to occupy his time with both Potter and Granger in absentia. He spent half the day converting an old workroom into a makeshift potions laboratory with the help of several house-elves, of course, although he generally found it easier to pick up large pieces of furniture and move them, rather than direct the house-elves and hope they placed them in the correct places.

When the room was ready, he sent another elf to the Apothecary for ingredients, vials, jars, and other paraphernalia. Some of the items would be impossible to procure through the normal channels, hence Granger's attempt to locate them at the Ministry or other places. She had regaled Draco with a tale of brewing Polyjuice Potion in their second year at Hogwarts—second year! He had been reluctantly impressed, although not amused to be the catalyst for their nefarious potion-making skills. However, if she had located ingredients for Polyjuice Potion as a second year student, Draco had little doubt she would find what they needed now that she was fully grown and even more devious.

A few of Pokeby's potions were relatively simple, so Draco used his excessive free time to prepare them. In truth, he had missed creating potions. The uncomplicated process of chopping ingredients, measuring them carefully, dividing them, and lining them up according to order of use… all of it was somehow satisfying and relaxing. He felt a sudden burst of kinship with Severus Snape. The man always seemed to be angry and tense, except when he was concocting potions. At those rare times, the bitter rage seemed to melt away and leave a curious, magical energy behind. Draco thought Snape had only been happy while brewing.

When one vial sat in the wooden holder and two cauldrons awaited later additions, Draco straightened and rubbed his lower back with both hands. He made a mental note to acquire more comfortable seating. Obviously his choice of hard wooden stools had been a subconscious recollection of the less-than-ergonomic standards at Hogwarts. After cleaning his hands with a quick Charm, he locked his new laboratory and climbed the stairs back to his room.

A house-elf informed him that Narcissa had gone out, much to his relief. Dinner the previous night had been surprisingly uncomfortable, made worse by his mother's insistence on grilling him about Potter. She asked several times if Draco thought Potter was doing his job and even suggested they find someone else more suitable to handle Draco's case. He had stared at her in amazement.

"Who can possibly be more suitable than the Chosen One, Mother? It is his life's mission to right wrongs."

"What if he does not see your condition as a wrong?" she had asked cryptically.

Draco frowned, thinking about it. Was it possible Potter didn't care? It was more than likely he thought Draco deserved what had happened to him, but would his self-righteousness prevent him from doing his job?

Bizarrely, the memory of holding Potter tightly returned, bringing a flush when he recalled the Auror sleeping in his lap. Potter's hair had been very soft where it had brushed against Draco's throat. Taking care of Potter had felt surprisingly good. He smiled softly when he thought of the Auror brushing his knuckles over his feathers. The prat seemed nearly obsessed with touching his wings. Perhaps his mother had a point—Potter seemed to like him better as a creature.

Draco shook off the annoying musings. He trusted the Auror to do his job, regardless, especially with Granger's help. She had thrown herself into the project with all the enthusiasm of a research-obsessed Ravenclaw. Draco had little doubt that she would have been sorted into that House if not for her penchant for throwing herself into danger like every Gryffindor in the world. Like Potter.

_I will stop thinking about Potter_, he admonished himself sharply.

A glance out the window showed that it was snowing again. The sight did not depress him, for once. It meant that he could fly without being seen. Hopefully the cold air would help clear his thoughts and rid his mind of the person he was not going to think about any longer.

~~ O ~~

Harry looked at the thick file and sighed. It had been sitting on his desk when he arrived, never a good sign, because it meant Kingsley had arrived early. It also meant an interoffice memo would be arriving right about… now. A red flutter sailed through Harry's door, the colour announcing the urgency of the message.

_In my office. Bring the file._

Harry looked longingly at the cup of tea he would have no chance to finish. Kingley was nothing if not blunt. And impatient. He was very impatient. Harry took a quick gulp of tea, grabbed the file, and headed for the Minister's office.

Once there, Kingsley sent him on a mission to Oxford where several robbers had been breaking into Muggle stores. It had taken some time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to catch on to the fact that the robbers were wizards, but it became obvious after one botched Memory Charm resulted in a Muggle claiming that robed aliens had broken into his shop and zapped him with "raybeam sticks".

Unfortunately, the robbers had been quick and unpredictable. Aurors had been searching for them for weeks and coming up nearly empty-handed.

"The Obliviators are already there trying to clean up the mess, but this one is at Godric-forsaken _Covent Garden Market_. We've been going mental trying to contain the blasted Muggles; the more people I send in the more suspicious they become. I need someone Muggle-savvy and everyone else capable is already on assignment."

Harry refrained from complaining. It was just the sort of mission he hated. The Muggles would be nervous, the wizards would be doing their best to blend in and thereby standing out like beacons, and any possible clues would be lost in the confusion.

To top it off, Harry had spent half the night trying to decide what to do about Narcissa Malfoy's conversation. He was running on a pathetic amount of sleep and wanted nothing more than to look into nefarious practices at Azkaban. He also wanted to see Malfoy. He wasn't quite sure whether or not he should mention the confrontation with his mother. Well, certain parts of it would never be revealed, of course, but it was possible Malfoy was aware that his father's arm might reach all the way from prison…

"Are you listening, Potter?"

Harry shook off his reverie and got to his feet. "I'm on my way."

"Buck up, Potter, at least it gets you off the Malfoy case for a bit."

Harry bit back a retort. If he mentioned that he wanted to be on the Malfoy case it would only raise questions that he was not ready to answer. He left the Minister's office without another word.

When Harry returned, it was nearly nine p.m. and he was completely exhausted, hungry, bruised, and irritated. It had been far worse than expected. Wizards had been everywhere, some of them sent by the Ministry, others brought by the unscrupulous reporters that had recently plagued the Ministry and the Auror Division, in particular. They had had a bloody field day when Harry arrived, swarming over him and making his job that much more difficult.

The flustered Obliviators had not been much better, staring at his scar and babbling nearly incoherently. Harry wondered why the fuck Kingsley had not sent more senior members and then remembered several of them had taken early leave in order to return in time for the holidays—a notoriously busy time for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Of course, that meant Harry was stuck with the underlings and those he seldom worked with. Between the reporters, the goggling wizards, and the confused Muggles, Harry had been tempted to Stun the lot of them and drag them back to headquarters for sorting.

Naturally, he had done no such thing and instead spent eight hours acting in the most diplomatic manner possible. All of which left him a terrible headache. He had spent the last hour watching Muggle security tapes in order to hopefully catch a glimpse of the robbers, something that would never have occurred to any of the other wizards. Even though some of them were Muggleborn, those in the Ministry always seemed to have left their Muggle roots behind the instant they hit the school doors as eleven-year-olds.

That endeavour had paid off, at least. Harry had gotten a good look at two of the culprits. They were teens, which was not surprising—most adult wizards stayed firmly away from Muggle habitations and would not consider entering a Muggle mall, even to rob it. One of the boys looked enticingly familiar. Harry had printed several pictures of the culprits with intent to circulate them throughout the Ministry. Despite the oddity of non-moving photography, hopefully someone would recognize the boys. Apparently they were stealing Muggle money. The other wizards had scoffed at the idea, but Harry believed the lads were using the money to purchase goods for resale to the wizarding populace. Several Muggle items were valuable in the wizarding world, including mundane things such as paper. Although wizards extolled the virtues of parchment, nothing beat a smooth piece of Muggle-made paper, especially considering the variety of of Muggle colours and designs.

Harry dropped off the photo with a secretary and then checked in with Kingsley, who was still in his office, much to Harry's annoyance. Harry threw himself into a chair and gave a verbal report, even though he would still be up half the night preparing a written one. He wished he had half of Hermione's interest in writing reports. It just seemed like a tedious waste of time. Unfortunately, Kingsley didn't see it that way.

"I'm sure you'll have those reports on my desk by noon tomorrow. By the way, I received a request to remove you from a certain case while you were gone."

Harry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "What case?" he asked. "I'm only on one…" He raised his head and stared at Kingsley with blurred vision. He quickly put his glasses back on and glared at the Minister, who nodded.

"Narcissa Malfoy is concerned with the lack of productivity on her son's case."

"It's been a _week_!" Harry protested.

"I explained that to her and informed her that these things take time. She agreed not to pull you from the case, but she also requires something concrete or she plans to file a formal complaint with the Wizengamot."

Harry paled. He had little doubt that she would do it. He wondered how merciless she would be regarding Harry's "fondling" of her son's photograph. Even a brief mention of it would cause a veritable avalanche of speculation from the press. Would she be willing to put Draco through that? The thought relaxed him slightly. He doubted she would do anything that would sully Draco's name.

"We're not entirely without leads," Harry said reluctantly. "I just haven't made them known to Mrs Malfoy. Draco is fully aware of everything we have discovered. I think the final decision on whether or not I remain on this case should be his."

"We?" Kingsley asked sharply. "Please tell me you have not dragged anyone else into this nightmare? I stressed our utmost confidentiality to Narcissa Malfoy."

"Of course not!" Harry said quickly and damned his inability to lie as his cheeks heated slightly. "I meant Draco and I. He and me. We." Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and Kingsley looked at him owlishly.

"This had better not turn into a shitstorm, Harry. And you had better give me something concrete in the next two days or I'm pulling you from this case, myself."

Thus dismissed, Harry returned to his office, feeling beaten. He glanced at the clock and realized it was probably too late to call on Malfoy, even if he could have concocted a valid reason. In truth, he should probably stay away from the winged blond altogether, before his strange attraction got him into even deeper trouble.

When he finally arrived home much later that night, an owl message awaited him. After coaxing it from Hermione's evil owl—and earning a painful nip in the process—he opened it and smoothed it out for reading.

_H, I found several of the ingredients we were searching for. I'll be with our mutual friend tomorrow while we try and recreate some of the you-know-what. Owl if you need me. H_

Harry crumpled the message in his hand and shooed Curie out the window without an owl treat. He remembered the jolly way Hermione and Draco had worked together the last time he saw them. He did not want them spending another moment alone together.

As he dressed for bed, Harry convinced himself he was being stupid. Hermione would never fall for Draco and even if she did, what business was it of Harry's? It wasn't like Malfoy would ever be interested in him. Hell, Hermione had a much better chance. Harry needed to be a good friend, step back, and forget his irrational jealousy.

With that cheerful thought, Harry crawled between the sheets and thankfully fell into an exhausted sleep.

~~ TBC ~~


	11. Chapter 11

I'm trying to catch up to Livejournal, so yeah, making two posts in one day. WOOT! And this puppy is longish. :D

**Chapter Ten**

_Heaven's gates won't open up for me_

_With these broken wings I'm fallin'_

_And all I see is you._

_-Nickelback – Savin' Me_

Draco greeted Granger cordially enough when she entered, although truthfully he had nearly been out of his mind with impatience. Draco had not heard a single bloody word from Potter. And Granger's morning missive had stated she would be late. Since she was normally the crack-of-dawn type, Draco had expected her at 9:00 or possibly as late as ten. When she finally popped in an hour after noon, Draco was nearly out of his mind with boredom.

"Sorry, Draco, I got hung up with a crisis at the Ministry. Even when I take time off they still expect me to drop everything and rush down there at a moment's notice." She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose if I stopped enabling them they would stop expecting it, yes?"

Draco nearly had to bite his tongue to keep from making a scathing comment. After all, she had ingredients he needed, hopefully tucked into the rucksack she currently held in one hand. She smiled, seeming to appreciate his effort in holding back commentary as she held out the bag for him to take.

"I also dropped off a note for Harry to stop at the Apothecary and pick up some pickled salamander tongue. I found nearly everything else. I assumed you had bilberry roots, so I didn't spend a lot of time searching for those. They are common enough that you should have them in your stores. I am completely out."

Draco snapped his fingers and told one of the house-elves to fetch bilberry roots. He began to sort through the other ingredients and nodded with satisfaction. She had done well. Ash from a live volcano, unicorn hoof parings, albatross eggshells, and even the feathers of a Nepalese Cheer Pheasant. Those were definitely rare.

The house-elf reappeared. "Master Draco is having no bilberry roots. Master Draco is having bilberry juice, bilberry leaves, dried bilberries, and bilberry wine, but there is being no bilberry _roots_ in Master Draco's stores."

Draco frowned and looked at Granger, who shrugged. "I suppose I can fetch some. There is a patch in the royal gardens at Buckingham Palace."

"Won't it be covered by a foot of snow?" Draco asked.

"At Buckingham? Perish the thought! The royal gardeners would never allow the royal bilberry to be covered in snow!"

Draco shrugged. He barely recalled that Buckingham Palace was part of some Muggle societal hierarchy, never having been required to take a Muggle Studies class. _Thank Merlin for that, at any rate._ "Is it vital?"

She nodded and seemed about to launch into an explanation, no doubt planning to go into detail about the effects of the root on the potion. Draco simply wanted to start brewing.

"Fine," he said. "You can fetch the damned thing and I'll start compiling the other ingredients."

"Can you come with me? I can't search the entire garden alone."

Draco scowled. "How large is this bloody place?"

"Large enough that it will take the two of us long enough to locate the bilberry."

"And what do you propose I do about these, Granger?" Draco asked as he snapped his wings open in agitation. "Or do you think the Muggles will simply not notice the presence of a winged man?"

"There will be few enough people about in this weather," she said pragmatically. "A simple Disillusionment Charm will handle the rare Muggles that might spot us."

Draco frowned. He was about to ask how skilled she was at casting Disillusionment Charms, but then he remembered she had always been a spell-casting prodigy. He had to admit the idea of leaving the house had appeal. His brief foray with Potter to Pokeby's house had been a welcome respite, but it already seemed like weeks had passed since the outing.

"All right, Granger. Let's go get the damned roots. How do you plan to get us there?"

"There are a few places to Apparate inside the Palace. The Ministry likes to maintain access to Muggle governmental offices, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

She shrugged. "Opinions on that vary greatly, but it hails back to the day when wizards actually helped Muggle rulers. That ended with Merlin, of course."

Draco rolled his eyes. Merlin's love of Muggles was legendary. There had been rumours about Merlin's relationship with the Muggle king, Arthur. Draco had always suspected the fair Gwen had run off with Lancelot because her husband was shagging his pet wizard…

"Shall we?" Granger asked, pulling him out of his historical reverie. "I'll Side-Along you, if you don't mind. Can we Apparate from here?"

He shook his head. "Not without Mother sensing the wards." He led her on a roundabout circuit through the house and then out onto one of the many balconies. Once outside, Granger took Draco's arm. He was suddenly grateful that he had taken the time to alter a black cashmere jumper that morning. One thing he did not need was visions—or memories, or whatever they were—of Hermione Granger, particularly if they were in the same vein as those produced by touching Potter.

As they Apparated away, Draco thought of the image that haunted his dreams, of a sweat-soaked Potter wearing a soft smile. Damn. He suddenly wished the cold still affected him.

~~ O ~~

Harry was sent out on a case the moment he stepped into his office. It was a simple shoplifting case in Diagon Alley, but Kingsley liked to prove there was no favouritism by sending Harry out on rookie-grade cases now and again. The culprit was young, barely out of school, and had been caught trying to steal a moke from the Magical Menagerie. The boy was desperate-looking, and thin, but something about his earnest face reminded Harry of Hagrid. He tried not to think about it as he sent the boy away to the Ministry with another Auror while he took a report from the owner.

It was a routine case and required little more from Harry after the initial report, so he decided to stop by the Apothecary and pick up Hermione's potion supplies. Her memo had fluttered into his hand as he had boarded the lift on his way out of the Ministry Headquarters.

He fished it out of his pocket, trying to remember what it was she needed. Pickled newt tongue? He held up the note and squinted at Hermione's tiny writing. Salamander. That was it.

He nearly bumped into Molly Weasley when he looked up.

"Why, Harry! There you are! Nice to see you."

"Um, hello, Molly," he said politely. She held a shopping bag that clinked when she moved. She held it up and shook it lightly.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry? You look a bit peaked. You're probably not eating properly, living alone with only that unpleasant house-elf for company. Take care you don't catch a cold, dear. I just stopped at the Apothecary for some Pepperup Potion for poor Fred. He has a cold again, blast this horrid weather. I'm taking it to him at the shop," Molly said with a cheerful grin.

Harry goggled at her. "F… Fred?" he asked stupidly.

Molly nodded and sighed. "I know, he might be faking, but as his mother I can't take any chances. You should come round to the Burrow later, Harry. We don't see you often enough these days."

A cold slither of dread slid through Harry as he opened his mouth to remind her that Fred was dead, but he snapped his jaw shut and forced a smile. "That… might be nice," he said lamely.

"And I know Ginny will want to see you. I do wish you two would stop this silly bickering and get back together."

Harry's ability to speak deserted him entirely. Thankfully, Molly seemed to be finished chatting.

"Bye, now, dear." She gave his head an absent pat, skirted past him, and continued toward Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Harry watched her uneasily and made a note to stop in and talk with Arthur when he returned to the office.

Harry resumed his trek toward the Apothecary, careful with his footing on the icy sidewalks. Before he touched the door handle, the portal opened and Gregory Goyle stepped out. Their eyes locked for a moment.

"Potter," Goyle said flatly.

"Goyle," Harry returned.

They stared each other down and Goyle seemed about to say something more, but he finally pushed away from the doorway and stalked down the street, making in the direction of Gringotts. Harry's lip curled. He would never belittle Goyle in front of Draco, but he would also never be able to utter a kind word about him, despite the fact that he had apparently accepted Draco's wings and remained a loyal friend.

"Prat," Harry muttered and entered the store.

Harry was beginning to hate his job. He had barely finished Kingsley's bloody report on the prior day's incident, plus the morning's shoplifting incident, when a messenger dropped in and ordered him to Cornwall to investigate a murder. Thankfully there were no Muggles involved—it was a simple case of a love triangle turned violent.

Harry tracked down the estranged husband (who had killed his wife's lover in a fit of rage) and immobilized him after a short but tiring chase. In the process Harry slipped on a patch of ice and landed painfully, wrenching his thigh. He hauled the man's unconscious body to the Ministry lockup to await trail and then returned to his office.

He dawdled with the new report while rubbing his wounded thigh and nursing a sprained wrist. He considered seeing a staff Healer, but every bloody minor injury always turned into front page news. It wasn't worth the bother. He stared at the report without writing a word for twenty minutes before finally giving up and seeking one of the private fireplaces reserved for Aurors. He Fire-called Malfoy Manor.

A house-elf finally answered his summons.

"May I speak with Draco?" Harry asked politely.

"Master Draco is not being home," the elf replied.

Harry was surprised. "Malfoy left the house? Where did he go?"

"Master Draco is not making Hemlock aware of Master Draco's plans."

Hemlock. A charming name for a house-elf. "Is he alone?"

"Hemlock is not knowing. Hemlock was seeing Master Draco leaving the house with Hermione Granger." The house-elf's tone was as thick with disdain as any pureblood's and Harry's lip thinned with annoyance. He nearly asked where they had gone, but knew the loyal creature would say nothing even if he had knowledge of Malfoy's whereabouts.

He stared blindly into the flames that surrounded the house-elf's head. Malfoy was with Hermione. They had left the Manor. Together. He forced down a rush of something that resembled panic. His jaw clenched and he ended the call before stalking back to his office. Malfoy and Hermione. Where could they be?

Harry put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the desk. Damn it all, he had no right at all to be annoyed. Hermione was helping with the case as a favour. And Malfoy despised him.

And yet… the last time they had been together…

Harry sighed. He was reading too much into one short evening. He and Malfoy were not even friends.

Harry stared at his paperwork for another hour without working his way through a full page. He could not stop wondering where Malfoy and Hermione had gone. Four times he grabbed his wand to cast a Patronus and four times he set it back down. He was about to pick it up for the fifth time when the door opened and Ginny Weasley breezed in. She shut the door behind her and sauntered over to park herself on the corner of Harry's desk after shoving aside a stack of file folders and a framed picture of Harry's parents.

"Harry," she said warmly and leaned over his desk. Her blouse gaped open, giving him a tantalizing view of her breasts. Harry wondered when she had started to dress like Pansy Parkinson. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have come to seduce him.

"Ginny," he replied in a neutral tone.

She smiled. "Harry, Mum insists that you come to dinner tonight, since you cancelled the other evening. She says she won't take no for an answer. It's at four and I've already been to see Kingsley, who agreed to let you leave early for this special occasion."

"You what? What special occasion?" Harry wracked his brain trying to remember what he had forgotten. Birthday? Anniversary? Ancient Wizarding Holiday? Close on the heels of that was a sudden memory of his encounter with Molly in Diagon Alley that morning. Had she really said "Fred" and acted like Harry was still in school? It all seemed a bit hazy in his mind and Harry had not made it to Arthur's office, as intended. In truth, he had completely forgotten about Molly in the rush of events.

"Well, I sort of stretched the truth. Bill's birthday is in two days, but we're saving his party for next month when Charlie comes to visit. We'll celebrate them both together. But Bill is coming tonight and mum is making a cake, since Bill has to work on Thursday, the poor dear. Those bloody goblins have no souls, not allowing a man to have his birthday off." She sighed. "And Fleur is taking him away somewhere this weekend, so we can't do it then. Do say you'll come, Harry."

Harry suppressed a sigh, but he could not think of a decent excuse. Besides, he genuinely liked Bill and suspected Ron would behave in his presence, and it would give him a chance to talk to Arthur.

"All right. I'll need to stop at home and change, but tell your mum I'll be there by quarter past four."

She sat back with a satisfied smile and flipped her long red hair back over one shoulder. "Great! I'll see you there." She hopped off the desk and strode to the door, where she gave him a saucy wink before going out. He had to admit that she was lovely. It was a genuine pity that he simply was not attracted to her. His life would be so much easier if he were. Not for the first time, he wondered if a love potion might be the answer. He could take it, fall in love with Ginny, get married, have a large number of Potter-Weasley children and live happily ever after. Or would he? Would it be feigned happiness, even with a potion? Or would it feel genuine? He would have to ask Malfoy.

He sighed, thinking of white wings and pale, smooth shoulders. Everything came back to Malfoy these days. Harry scowled and focused on his report. Kingsley would be less than thrilled if Harry left to attend a birthday dinner without finishing his work.

~~ O ~~

Draco and Granger appeared inside of a dark, closet-like room. Granger lit her wand immediately and Draco looked around. The place seemed to be an unused storage room. Empty shelves were covered with dust, as was the floor. Draco's wings drew in close to his body fastidiously. Granger was already at the door, opening it cautiously and peering out.

She motioned at him and slipped outside. Draco followed and wondered where in the damned Palace they had ended up. "How far to the gardens?" he asked in a whisper. She made a shushing noise and Draco's lips thinned. The darkened corridor reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts. There were no Muggles to be seen. Granger turned and cast a Disillusionment Charm, first on him and then on herself.

"To be safe," she said. "If they see us at all, they will doubt their eyes. Luckily, these old Muggle buildings are full of ghosts. Did you know that Major John Gwynne, the King's secretary, shot himself in a fit of shame after his scandalous—?"

"Skip the Muggle history lesson, Granger. Let's just get the damned roots and get out of here."

She glared at him. "You are just as bad as Ron and Harry," she huffed.

"Do not compare me to Gryffindors," Draco said with a toss of his chin. "I will listen to you recite Hogwarts, A History to me for hours, but do not bore me with Muggle trivia."

She rolled her eyes. "Just come on," she said and led the way up a set of dingy stairs. Honestly, did Muggles never _clean_?

They made their way outside, passing no Muggles at all, and making Draco wonder if they actually lived in the castle or if the place was actually empty and other Muggles only thought they lived there. He supposed he didn't care, regardless.

In the snow-covered garden, Draco looked at the piles of whiteness with dismay. They all looked like white lumps. Not a single bush was distinguishable from another. The paths had been cleared of snow, but the foliage had apparently been left to fend for itself, despite Granger's earlier words to the contrary. He debated bringing up the fact that Hermione the Wonder Witch had been _wrong_, but her warning glare kept him from belabouring the point.

"How are we going to find the bilberry bushes?" he asked instead, doubting she had a Bilberry Detection Charm somewhere in her repertoire.

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Draco, by looking at the plants, of course. They only grow next to pine trees or in acidic soil, so that should narrow our search."

"Yes, it should be a simple matter to tell which soil is acidic when it's buried beneath a mountain of snow."

"Just come on," she snapped and marched toward a likely-looking set of white hillocks standing near a group of evergreen trees so generously crusted with snow that the green was barely detectable.

Granger peered around for Muggles and then cast a spell to whoosh the snow away from one branch of an ice-coated bush. She frowned. "Viburnum." She moved on to the next one and then gave Draco a pointed look. "Are you here to assist or just sightsee?"

With much nearly inaudible muttering, Draco moved away to begin the tedious task of searching for a particular bloody bush in a sea of white. He supposed it would help if he could recall what their branches looked like. Frankly, with the leaves gone the twiggy plants all looked the same.

Of course, he would never admit that to Granger.

~~ O ~~

Before he left for the Weasleys', Harry Fire-called Malfoy Manor once more only to find Malfoy and Hermione still in absentia. He gnawed his lip with worry. _Where the hell could they be_?

He arrived at the Burrow just as Bill and Fleur did—they nearly collided as they all Apparated to the same point on the porch. Bill steadied Fleur, who laughed melodiously.

"Oh, 'arry, we nearly Zplinched into each ozhere!" Her breath sent clouds of fog into the cold air.

"Yes, just think, we could have spent the evening at St. Mungo's instead of here," Harry said dryly and Bill grimaced.

"Ron is still being an arse, then?" he asked.

Harry shrugged just as the door opened to reveal Ginny's beaming face.

"Harry, you made it!" She launched herself at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fleur laughed again.

"I t'ink she eez 'appy to zee you."

"Very happy," Ginny purred against Harry's lips. He suddenly wanted to Apparate back home and hide in his own living room. He cleared his throat and pushed her away gently but firmly.

Luckily, Bill pushed by them both and pulled Fleur inside where he grabbed Arthur in an exuberant hug. Harry followed, although he was not successful in detaching Ginny from his arm. She clung to him possessively and he resigned himself to a long night. His bruised leg throbbed and his teeth clenched with the effort of not limping.

"Harry! Do come in, my boy!" Arthur said. He leaned close to Harry and whispered, "I have a fascinating Muggle device to show you later. I've no idea what it does, but—"

"Dad, leave Harry alone or I'll tell Mum about the _fascinating Muggle devices_ you've been hoarding in the garden shed," Ginny warned.

Arthur pouted and Harry laughed. "I'll look at it later, Arthur. I promise."

They migrated to the kitchen where Ron and George were already seated. Molly greeted Harry and eyed Ginny's possessive hold on his arm with an indulgent smile. Harry clenched his teeth and wondered what he had to do to explain to both women that he was not Ginny's property. He allowed himself a brief fantasy of showing up with a man on his arm and then let it go farther when the man evolved into a blond with fluffy white wings…

"Harry!" Ginny said sharply, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly and George smiled.

"She has that affect on people," George said fondly and Harry realized a woman sat next to George, blushing profusely. Harry hoped she had not been introduced while he was in a Malfoy-induced daydream.

"Harry, this is Laurie Bell. Laurie, I am sure you recognize Harry Potter," George said and grinned at the sandy-haired girl, who stammered and nodded as she gaped at Harry in an awestruck manner.

"Of course she recognizes the famous Harry Potter," Ron offered from his usual place. His tone was dry but did not sound as bitterly confrontational as was his wont. Laurie's eyes, however, went to him in surprise.

"Leave it, Ron," Bill warned.

"Um, I remember Harry from school," Laurie said quietly. "I started when… well, that year when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

Molly coughed as though she had swallowed wrong and everyone began to babble at once. No one ever brought up the war at the Weasley household. It was taboo.

"Everything smells delicious, Mum!" Bill said loudly.

"Laurie was in Gryffindor. She's Katie Bell's little sister," George explained quickly.

"Harry, you sit here by me," Ginny insisted and pulled out a chair.

Fleur spoke rapidly in French and Arthur made a show of looking for his wand while loudly wondering where he had left it. Harry sat in the chair, assisted by pressure on his arm.

"I remember," Harry said quickly, although he did not remember her at all. "Didn't your mother warn you away from men like George?"

Thankfully, Laurie's giggle seemed to crack the tension. She leaned close to George and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Yes, she did. But, luckily for George, I don't always listen to my mum."

Conversation turned to safer subjects and everyone sat down to Molly's fine meal. As usual, George and Bill monopolized the chatter, which was fine with Harry. He felt almost relaxed except for Ginny's hand that kept straying to his thigh for an occasional squeeze. She also found it necessary to lean close and speak into his ear whenever she had something to say.

"Working on any interesting cases, Harry, dear?" Molly asked, nearly causing Harry to choke on his pumpkin juice. He was not nearly as fond of the stuff as he had been as a child, but Molly seemed to think they were all permanently eleven years old, except for Ron, of course. His former best friend sipped his ale at the head of the table and glared balefully at the others. Harry cringed inwardly at the idea, aware that Molly had acted like he was eleven just that morning, but she seemed perfectly fine now.

"Not really, no," Harry said. "Just the same old, same old, you know." He managed a lame smile.

"Boring old Auror work," Ron said with a sneer.

Harry raised a hand to his chest. His fingers pressed into the small feather that rested beneath his shirt. He had gone home to change his clothing and spent a few extra minutes boring a hole in the tip of the feather through which he had fed a fine golden chain. He knew wearing Draco's feather was slightly crazy, but the feel of it steadied him somewhat. It was invisible beneath his thick black jumper, but Ginny noticed the movement.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked.

"How is Hermione, Harry?" Ron questioned over her. His tone was surprisingly mild.

Harry shot a surprised gaze at him. He had been wondering the same thing, actually, although for far different reasons than Ron would ever suspect.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her today. Or heard from her, actually," he admitted.

"Lover's spat?" Ron snarled.

"What is Ron going on about, Harry?" Molly asked. "How is our dear Hermione? I do miss her so."

Ron shoved his chair away from the table in a violent movement that nearly upset the water glasses. Molly shot him a disapproving stare, but Ron was unmoved. He glared at Harry.

"Ronald Weasley, you may not leave this table until we have Bill's cake."

"I don't want any cake."

"You need all the cake you can get, prat," Bill said mildly. "It might sweeten your disposition."

"My disposition is just bloody fine!" Ron muttered. Harry knew the comment coming from anyone but Bill would have caused Ron to erupt into a rage.

"Yes, you are the very soul of happiness and joy," George muttered.

"What the fuck do I have to be happy and joyful about, George?" Ron shouted, turning on his other brother. Laurie Bell cringed against George's side, obviously not having witnessed an angry outburst from Ron before.

"Ron, you promised not to cause trouble this evening!" Ginny yelled.

"Then you should not have invited him!" Ron bellowed and flung out a hand to point a trembling finger at Harry. "When are you going to get it through your stupid head that he doesn't want you, Ginny? He's got Hermione now!"

"That's enough, Ron," Harry said quietly as he got to his feet. "I'm sorry for this, Molly. I should not have come. Thank you for inviting me. Bill, happy early birthday."

The kitchen erupted into pandemonium. Molly begged Harry not to go, Arthur shouted at Ron, Ginny shrieked invectives, and George hexed Ron with some sort of Stinging Spell, causing his brother to bellow and reach for his wand. Laurie screamed.

Harry fled.

He barely made it outside before Ginny caught him, clinging to his arm to prevent him Apparating.

"Harry, wait!" she cried.

He shook his head, wincing as her fingers dug into his swollen wrist. "I can't do this any more, Ginny. I can't keep coming back here. Tell your mum she's sweet to keep inviting me, but Ron hates me now and I can't stand it!"

"That's not true, Harry, you're part of this family!"

"I am _not_ part of this family!"

"Well, you could be!" Ginny insisted.

Harry's tolerance snapped. He was tired of Ron and he was tired of Ginny, and he was tired of everyone trying to constantly make him into something he wasn't.

"Stop it, Ginny! Just stop it! When are you going to quit deluding yourself? Why can't you just accept that it's _over_ between us?"

She reacted as if slapped and then shook her head wildly. "You don't know what you're saying, Harry. You said you just wanted space! You said you wanted time to think things over."

"I have thought things over. I've thought them over quite thoroughly." Harry stalked away from the porch and onto the walk that had been magically cleared of snow earlier, but already showed signs of being coated with a new layer.

"Oh, you have, have you?" she demanded loudly and hurried after him. "And what have you decided, Harry? That you want Hermione Granger, after all?"

Harry stopped and turned on her angrily. "This has nothing to do with Hermione. Nothing! This has to do with _me_, Ginny. _With me!_ This is about how_ I_ feel, all right? No one ever bothers to ask my opinion, they just assume that I'll keep doing exactly what's expected of me."

"Is that why you were with me?" she asked quietly. "Because it was expected?"

Her quiet tone dampened his rage slightly and made him pause to rake a hand through his hair. It came away wet from the falling snow.

"Yes. No. I don't know," he admitted.

"You don't know?" Her tone was disbelieving and bitter. "Did you ever feel anything for me?"

"Yes!" he cried. "Of course I did. I do! Just not… not what you need."

"Why not, Harry? What am I lacking, damn you? _What's wrong with me_? Don't you think you owe me an explanation? Why am I not good enough for you?"

"Bloody hell, Ginny! It has nothing to do with you! It's me!"

"You? Why? Because you're the bloody _Savior_?"

"Because I like _men_, Ginny," Harry admitted angrily. "Not women. Not you, not Hermione. _Men! _ Do you understand, now?"

She stared at him, frozen, as though the ice crystals falling from the sky had transformed her into rigidity. The shock in her eyes transmitted itself back to him and he nearly groaned aloud. Fuck, now he had done it.

"A bloody shirt lifter," said a low voice from Harry's left and he turned to see Ron, lurking near a snow-covered bush. "A fucking ponce! How long have you known, Harry? Since Hogwarts? Since we were _roommates_? Since we spent all that time camping in the forest together?" Ron's voice began to rise, much as Ginny's had earlier.

Harry tried to speak, but his vocal cords seemed to have locked up.

Ron laughed unpleasantly. "And here I was jealous of Hermione. Maybe she should be jealous of me, eh? Or probably not me, since you never made any type of pass at me, eh, _mate_? Or did I just fail to notice, not being a fucking _fairy_? Does Hermione know?"

After a telling silence, Ron barked another laugh.

"Of course she does. She's the smart one. I'm the stupid one. Couldn't tell me, though, could you?"

"Stop it, Ron," Harry managed, backing away slowly. He had experienced several versions of angry Ron Weasley, but this one bordered on surreal. Harry could feel the wounded rage coming off of him in veritable waves. Ron glided forward in his chair as if stalking him.

"'Stop it, Ron,'" he mocked. "It's always '_stop it, Ron_. Knock it off, Ron. Don't be an idiot, Ron'. Looks like I _was_ an idiot not to have kenned to that. _My best friend_. You never told me all your dirty little secrets, did you, Harry?"

"I didn't know," Harry whispered.

Ron laughed bitterly. Harry glanced at Ginny, who had not moved from her frozen stance, although her eyes flitted from him to Ron and back again.

"You didn't know." Ron lifted his wand suddenly and pointed it at Harry. His lips twisted in a way that reminded Harry eerily of Voldemort. "Get the fuck out of here, _Chosen One_. Get the fuck away from my sister and my family, and _stay the fuck away from me! _"

Harry took a single shaking breath and Disapparated.

~~O~~

Draco was covered in snow. Granger had cleverly thrown a snowball at a white-laden tree, which had dislodged a fluffy load of the stuff onto his head. He glared at her and batted at the snow as it began to melt into his hair. He quickly patted a large snowball together with his bare hands and chased her through the garden as she ran away, shrieking with laughter.

They had located the bilberry bushes after an exhaustive search, finding them tucked away in a tiny corner of the massive garden. It turned out that they were cleverly marked with little metal signs that denoted their kingdom, phylum, genus, and class, something Draco had taken great satisfaction in pointing out to Granger after she had examined her fifteenth leafless branch.

In truth, it had been an accident. Draco had noticed the damned signs only after the edge of his wing brushed over one and unburied it from the snow. Still, victory was victory.

Even with that assistance, trying to locate the helpful labels in the banks of snow and then kicking the whiteness away from them had been nearly as time-consuming as just examining the damned plants would have been, particularly when some of the snow-capped bushes were missing signs entirely. The Muggles seemed to have no desire to be consistent.

Draco lobbed his snowball at Granger and laughed when it nailed the back of her bushy head and nearly knocked her forward into a snow bank. She turned on him with an angry expression, but broke into giggles instead. Draco expected her to retaliate, but she only batted snow from her flattening curls and asked, "How are we going to collect the roots?"

For reply, Draco pointed his wand at a bilberry and uprooted the plant. Dirt showered down from the branchlike roots and left a dark stain on the ground.

"Hey! What you doin' there?" someone yelled and Draco turned to see a Muggle in some sort of uniform stalking toward them. Granger yelped and raced toward Draco. She grabbed him and Summoned the bilberry. Draco barely had time to think before she Disapparated them.

She released him as Draco blinked at their new surroundings. They stood outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, where it was once again snowing heavily. Granger laughed wryly as she held the bilberry away from her robes.

"Granger," Draco said disapprovingly. "I can't believe you did that to that poor defenceless Muggle. How will he ever explain the theft of a prized bush by a robed madwoman and a man with wings?"

"Only a robed madwoman, I think. I made certain your Disillusionment Charm was still in place. I hate to Obliviate them."

"Yes, it's far better to let them think they are mad."

"Sympathy for Muggles? From you?" she asked archly.

Draco grinned. "It's not sympathy. I am merely pointing out the shockingly unethical behaviour from a stellar employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I shall ignore that. Here, take this ruddy bush." She held out the dirty thing and Draco wrinkled his nose.

"No thank you. Come inside and I'll have one of the elves take it to the lab."

Draco opened the gates and Granger followed, dragging the plant with her. He grinned and vowed to put that memory in a Pensieve, because her disgruntled expression was priceless. He had to admit that her company was amusing.

Draco summoned a house-elf when they reached the porch and Granger gladly handed over the dirty bush without a single disapproving glare or tirade about house-elf rights.

"I am filthy and wet. I think I will go home and soak in a hot bath."

"Oh, come inside and clean up. I want to go over the ingredient list once more and ascertain that we are not missing anything before you jaunt off for the night. You have made us remarkably unproductive today."

Granger glared at him, but followed Draco to his rooms. "I have been plenty productive, thank you very much. You would not have gotten half of what we need on your own."

He ignored that as he waved her to the bath chamber and then went to his bedroom to divest himself of his wet clothing. He tossed his sodden shirt on a nearby chair. The house-elves always had a fit when he left wet clothing lying about, but he felt it gave them something to do. He threw aside his boots and damp socks, as well, before removing his trousers and tugging on a soft black pair. He Conjured a towel and used it on his hair. He had found that Drying Charms wreaked havoc on his follicles and made his hair brittle.

He left the bedroom with the towel half covering his eyes and heard a loud gasp. He pulled the cloth away with a sardonic grin, about to harangue Granger for never having seen a half-naked man before, but the words died in his throat when he saw Harry Potter standing near the outer door, gaping at Draco as though _he_ had never seen a half-naked man before.

Potter spoke in a rush. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Draco. "I Flooed in and one of the house-elves brought me here. I hope you don't mind and I know I should have owled ahead or Fire-called. Um… I need to talk to you about something, if you're not too busy—" Potter's eyes widened again when the door to the bath opened and Granger stepped out wearing one of Draco's dressing gowns with her hair wrapped up in a towel bouffant.

"That was brilliant, Draco, I feel loads better…" She trailed off when she spotted Potter.

"I… Oh, fuck. I, um… I'd better go," Potter said and fled.

"Shit," Granger said, shocking Draco. He would never have expected her to use such language. She hurried toward the door. "I have to go after him."

"I'll do it!" Draco said quickly. His mother would have apoplexy if he saw a half-naked Muggle-born girl roaming the halls. "You find something to wear that won't stun Potter senseless. I'll bring the idiot back."

He hurried after the Auror, puzzled by Potter's behaviour. The corridor was empty—Potter must taken flight like Goyle pursuing a pastry sale. Why the rush if Potter had come all the way here to talk to him? Surely he had seen Granger in even fewer clothes than a dressing gown, since they had practically been joined at the hip since first year…

Partway down the corridor, Draco _got_ it. He frowned in annoyance. Surely Potter didn't think there was something _untoward_ happening between him and Granger? Draco would sooner shag Neville Longbottom. He shuddered at the thought. _Perhaps not. _

Potter was quick, so Draco cheated by taking to the air and flying quickly down the corridor and around the corner. He caught Potter on the stairs and dropped down in front of him, blocking his exit.

"Where are you going, Potter?" he asked casually.

Potter winced and studied the polished mahogany stair railing where one of his hands rested. Draco noticed his knuckles were very nearly white.

"You and Hermione seem to be busy," Potter replied in the same tone. "I'll just… um… come back later. It wasn't important."

"Don't be an idiot, Potter."

For some reason, the Auror's eyes flashed. "I've been an idiot plenty of times today. Why stop now?" he snarled. He stepped forward, obviously intending to push by Draco and escape, but Draco's hastily upraised wing stopped him. Potter walked into it and gasped as his fingers curled around the edge of it, gripping the feathers tightly. Draco's heart nearly stopped at the contact, even as he absently noted that the visions seemed to be triggered only by the touch of skin-on-skin. Interesting.

Potter's eyes met Draco's and he did not release his hold on the wing. They seemed frozen there for long moments while Draco drowned in Potter's eyes, which had always been intense, but now they seemed almost luminous. Draco was startled at the pain he read there—he always recognized pain, and there were volumes of it in Potter's eyes. Something had happened, something that Draco would never be privy to. The Auror had come to Draco to take his mind off of whatever it was, but it was Granger he needed.

He suppressed an odd sense of regret at the thought and then reached out and took Potter's--thankfully clothed--wrist. His gaze sharpened when Potter gasped and winced. Draco lifted Potter's hand and tore his eyes away from the overwhelming emerald to examine his arm. He tugged at the fabric of Potter's jumper and frowned at the sight of his bruised and swollen wrist.

"Don't you ever take care of yourself?" he demanded and sighed heavily. "Come on."

He dropped Potter's arm and started up the stairs. Potter did not move for a moment, still clutching Draco's wing like a lifeline, but then his grip relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Just come on," Draco snapped. He continued walking with the expectation that Potter would follow. Thankfully, he did, because Draco wasn't sure he could force himself to use a Full Body-Bind on the man who had slain the Dark Lord.

Potter trailed him for only a short distance before stepping up to walk beside him. Luckily the halls of Malfoy Manor were wide enough for Draco, Potter, and Draco's wings, although he had to take care not to brush them against the precious vases and other decorative elements that lined the walls. He noticed Potter gamely trying to conceal a limp. What had happened to leave him with a sprained wrist and a limp? A typical Auror case, or something more?

~~ O ~~

Harry walked beside Malfoy, feeling foolish. He knew he should leave, but the feel of Malfoy's soft wing seemed to have unhinged something within him. When Malfoy urged him to return, Harry hadn't the strength to disobey. He shot a sidelong glance at the blond and had to look quickly away. Malfoy was almost too beautiful, even with his hair in wild disarray from the haphazard towel-dry. Harry had nearly revealed everything at his first sight of Malfoy wet and gleaming, clad only in dark trousers. His feet were bare.

Harry's glance slipped to Malfoy's feet and watched for a few steps as they moved forward, first one and then the other, over the patterned carpet. Bare feet normally made people look vulnerable. They only made Malfoy look...

Harry shut that thought down before it took root. He closed his eyes and followed the familiar path, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He should be at the Ministry, alerting Kingsley and taking precautions against the potential shitstorm he had awakened at the Weasleys'.

Remembering the scene made his steps falter. A wing brushed against his back before Malfoy abruptly stopped. Harry shot him a quick look and started walking again. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Malfoy didn't move and after a few steps Harry stopped and glanced back.

"Look, Potter, Granger and I went to some Muggle castle garden today to harvest roots for one of the potions. We were both soaking wet when we returned and Granger was half-covered in mud, so I graciously allowed her to use the bath."

"You don't have to explain," Harry said quickly, but his relief was like a balm soothing his frazzled nerves. It must have shown on his face, because Malfoy's features tightened.

"Apparently, I do. Never fear, I understand that someone like me will never be acceptable company for your darling Granger, even without the wings. Evil Malfoy, former Death Eater and all that."

Harry blinked at his words. "Do you want to be?"

"Do I want to be what?" Malfoy snapped as he walked past Harry, who noted that the blond had drawn his wings close to his body in a protective fashion, like white armour made of feathers.

"Acceptable company for Hermione?"

Grey eyes seemed to pierce Harry's soul and a bitter smile twisted Malfoy's lips. "You really are blind, aren't you, Potter?"

With that, he entered his room and Harry was forced to follow or stand in the hallway alone.

He stepped inside Malfoy's sitting room and was enveloped in a familiar hug. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you've returned. I know this probably looked..."

Harry hurried to shush her before she said something that would hint of his attraction to Malfoy, who watched them curiously as he Conjured a comb and began to pull it through his blond hair. Resolutely turning his attention to Hermione, Harry said, "Never mind. Malfoy said you went to find potion ingredients. Any luck?"

Hermione had changed out of the dressing gown and towel and back into her normal clothing--light wizarding robes over jeans and a Muggle t-shirt. Her hair was still wet and looked strange in comparison to her normally curly frizz, but the ends were already beginning to twist into coils. They bobbed when she nodded and happily launched into an explanation of their day--a trip to Buckingham Palace in search of bilberry root.

"...and then Draco discovered that the ruddy plants were _labelled_, of all things... Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry started out of his reverie. He had been watching Malfoy comb his hair, for once without the usual rush of longing, because his mind had disturbingly returned to the memory of snow melting in Ginny's hair and the look of stunned horror on her face. And Ron's. He kept replaying the scene over and over, wishing for it to have a different ending.

Harry forced a smile as he dragged his attention away from Malfoy. "Nothing. It's just been a bit of a rough day."

"Yes, you might ask Potter how he acquired his new limp. And his wand hand is going to be utterly useless if he doesn't have it tended soon."

Hermione gasped and grabbed at his arm. Harry felt a rush of gratitude for Malfoy's unwitting comment. It had excellently drawn Hermione's attention away from his mental anguish. He would tell her about the scene with Ginny and Ron, but... not now. Not now and especially not here.

"What happened?" she cried.

"It was stupid," Harry admitted. "I was chasing down a suspect and slipped on the ice."

A bark of laughter from Malfoy nearly made Harry smile, but Hermione shot him a glare. "It's not funny, Draco. He could have broken something! Harry, why didn't you see a Healer? This is serious! Look how swollen it is." She frowned and prodded at Harry wrist.

He clenched his teeth against a cry of pain and glared at her. "Ouch, Hermione! Bloody hell, it's a good thing you didn't become a medi-witch!"

"Don't be such a baby. Draco, do you have any Nicato Salve?"

"Of course."

A house-elf fetched a crystal jar filled with bright purple salve. Hermione opened it and smeared the substance over Harry's arm, twisting his limb painfully in order to reach the underside.

"Do you think you can leave my elbow in the socket?" he asked dryly.

"Shush, you."

The ointment took effect almost immediately and Harry flexed his hand gratefully. He decided he would have to invest in a quantity of the salve to take with him on his more dangerous missions.

"Now, Draco mentioned that you are limping?"

Harry shot a glare at the blond, who gave him an amused look before dismissing him to stare back into the fire again, still tugging at his locks with the comb. Harry studied his profile for long moments until Hermione nudged him. "Oh. Sorry, it's nothing. Just a bruise. No, I will not strip down for you to tend it. Just… leave the salve with me and I'll do it later." At her obstinate look, he added, "I promise."

She looked at Draco and then quickly back at Harry before rising. "I'll be off, then, Draco, but I'll be here bright and early tomorrow to get started on those potions."

Malfoy scowled at her. "By bright and early, do you mean one in the afternoon?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "If you don't watch it I'll show up at dawn."

He waved her away and she gave Harry a knowing look before disappearing into the corridor and closing the door softly behind her.

"All right, Potter. What is it you wanted to discuss?"

Harry plucked at the edge of his sleeve and tried not to look at the blond. It was torture to be so close to something he could never have, especially when he was feeling emotionally wrecked. "Um… I had a talk with Kingsley, earlier," Harry began, fumbling for words and wondering how much he should tell Malfoy. There suddenly seemed to be too much. Between Narcissa's threats and Harry's job, and his stupid attraction, and now Ginny and Ron and his revelation... Harry got to his feet and walked to the balcony doors. The room seemed stifling with the heat from the fire blazing and the light of it turning Malfoy into a gleaming, untouchable jewel.

Harry wrenched open one of the French doors and stepped into the lightly falling snow. He moved across the white-covered stone and stopped at the railing to look out over the silent grounds of the Malfoy estate.

"Potter, what is it?" Malfoy demanded from the doorway behind him.

"I don't think I can work on this case any longer," Harry admitted without looking at him.

"What?"

Harry tried to ignore the sound of outrage in Malfoy's voice.

"I don't seem to be doing a very good job of it, and some things have happened recently and… and I'm certain Kingsley will find someone competent to take my place, possibly Angstrom, he's Icelandic and hadn't even heard of Voldemort, so he won't have any prejudice against you—"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Potter? What _things_ have happened? You're not making any bloody sense."

Harry turned toward him angrily, irritated that he was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Malfoy didn't like him, anyway, so why wouldn't he jump at the chance to be rid of him? He was shocked to find Malfoy standing ridiculously close, still barefoot and wearing only trousers. Harry had nearly forgotten Malfoy was immune to cold. Snowflakes landed and then melted on his pale skin, giving evidence of human warmth despite the wings and resistance to the elements.

"_What_ has happened?" he demanded again.

Harry sighed. "This. _This_ has happened." With that, Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy's.

~~ TBC ~~ (Nice cliffie, innit?) :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Eleven**

_Whether outwardly or inwardly,_

Whether in space or time,

The farther we penetrate the unknown,

The vaster and more marvellous it becomes.

- Charles A. Lindbergh

Draco stood in frozen shock for a moment and then he was assaulted with images. _Potter standing before a familiar wall, looking upset and distracted—he runs a hand through his hair and frowns_. The scene shifted to _Potter fairly blazing with rage_; Draco was so ensnared by the intensity of the man that he forgot to take note of the scenery until it was too late. _Potter holding a white feather and smiling dreamily as he runs a finger along the spine. The look in his eyes is maddeningly seductive—_

The images ceased as suddenly as they began, allowing Draco to register the pressure of Harry Potter's lips against his. The kiss was not at all tentative. Although gentle, it was a Gryffindor kiss, straightforward and hiding nothing, placing weapons into Draco's hands without reservation.

Before Draco could fully process Potter's sudden baring of his soul (although his first impulse was to wrap his wings around the man to see just how far his inclination would take him), the Auror broke the kiss and stepped away.

"I'm sorry, I… Well, now you know," Potter said, eloquent as usual. He looked wonderfully flushed and somehow boyishly vulnerable with snow catching on his fringe and eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I should go."

Before Draco could reach out a hand to stop him, Potter Disapparated.

_Shit_.

Draco touched his tongue to his lips and tasted Potter there. His thoughts were whirling. He had never dreamed that Potter might feel that way about him. It was insane. Insane and… electrifying. Draco smiled, suddenly feeling he could fly without wings, but since he possessed those he laughed aloud and shot skyward, where he made several high-speed loops before dropping back to the balcony with renewed determination. He had to find the idiot.

As soon as he entered the room, he realized he had no idea where the Auror lived.

But Granger did.

In moments his head was in the fireplace and he bellowed for the bushy-haired woman.

She padded into view, clad once more in a dressing gown, although this one was an unbecoming mauve shade. Draco grimaced.

"What the hell?" she demanded. "I just left you two… has something happened to Harry?" She threw herself to her knees.

"I don't know, he's acting… not himself," Draco admitted.

"Is Harry still there?"

"No, that's the problem. I need to know where he is. You know where he lives, correct?"

"Come through, I hate talking like this." She got to her feet and stepped back, so Draco Flooed into her living room. If anything, the books seemed to have multiplied. Even the couch was covered, but he was not in the mood to criticize her, for once. His mind was too occupied with Potter. Why _had_ Potter kissed him? It was ridiculous.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "Did you two have another row?"

Draco shook his head and realized it had probably been a mistake to seek out Granger. She would never simply tell him where Potter lived. First she would require every bloody detail and demand why Draco needed to see him. He debated what to reveal and gnawed his lip in indecision.

"What, then?" she asked.

"Potter has gone round the bend. I think he needs to be taken to St. Mungo's for a thorough mental examination."

Granger actually smiled and the lines of tension in her pose relaxed. "What has he done this time?"

"He kissed me."

Granger's smile widened and then she burst into very inappropriate giggles. "Did he, now?"

Draco scowled. "I don't think you quite understand the severity of this situation."

She schooled her features into a serious mien, but her brown eyes still glinted with humour. "Of course. I'm very sorry. Please go on."

"What do you mean, _please go on_? That's it. Potter kissed me, so obviously he's gone mad."

"I see. Don't you think it's possible that he's simply attracted to you?"

Draco gaped at her. Her calm acceptance was unexpected. "Of course not," he snapped. "The Chosen One does not go around kissing _men_ and especially not former Death Eater men. It is not acceptable. He is the Ministry's Golden Boy; he would be drummed out of the Auror Division in shame."

Granger laughed; actually laughed. "Honestly! Do you really think they would dare to oust Harry Potter because of his sexual preferences?"

"Yes," Draco said flatly.

She shrugged. "Some of them would. But Harry has never given a tinker's dam what anyone thinks about him, other than those he is closest to…" She trailed off and a concerned look crossed her face. _Finally_, Draco thought. "It is odd that he kissed you, though." She held up a hand at Draco's nod of acknowledgement. "Not because it's _you_, but because I didn't think he was ready to reveal his feelings. Something must have happened. He was acting strangely tonight. I noticed it, but I thought he was simply reacting to his injuries. I should have known better."

She gnawed her lip and Draco blurted, "What feelings?"

Granger cocked a brow at him. "I think it's best if you get that directly from Harry, don't you?"

Draco scowled. He knew damn well she knew more than she was willing to divulge. "Fine. Tell me where I can find him."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Confront him, of course, and demand to know why he's been acting like such a bloody prat if he has _feelings_ for me. Which sounds like an utter load of tripe, by the way. I think he must have received a Bludger to the head in some form."

"And if he really does care for you? What then? I'll keep you from him forever if you plan to hurt him."

Draco gaped at her, but he turned away and pretended to examine a seascape painting on the wall. The placid scene did nothing to calm his nerves. He thought back to the kiss and admitted that it was possible—just possible—that Potter was attracted to him. But, why? It made no sense. Potter had always hated him. The very idea was ridiculous.

"I don't want to hurt him," Draco admitted.

"But you're not interested?" she prodded gently.

Draco turned around to glare at her. "How the bloody hell should I know? I only learned of his insanity a moment ago! And it doesn't make a damned bit of difference if I am interested or not! He is the fucking Chosen One! I am a former Death Eater and a bloody _freak_! It. Cannot. Happen."

He turned around to deliver the last of his diatribe and her lips thinned. "I don't suggest you put it that way to Harry. He can be rather obstinate when someone tells him something can't be done. You will only succeed in making him more determined."

The thought of a determined Harry Potter made Draco's throat close up for a moment and an image returned to him of Potter blazing with rage. The very idea of such power turned to passion… Draco's wings folded around himself as if to shield him from the possibility.

"Perhaps you should go home and give it some thought. Right now you don't seem to be thinking very clearly and, obviously, Harry is out of sorts. If you feel the same tomorrow, I'll take you to him."

Draco did not want to wait; he wanted to see Potter _now_, but he realized she was right. He had to think of a way to convince the idiot that anything untoward he felt for Draco was irrational. It was even possible that his new accoutrements and abilities had something to do with Potter's attitude. Perhaps the Anakim were more like the Veela than they had thought? He suggested the idea to Granger.

She smiled again. "I think it's more the blond than the wings," she said cagily and then laughed at his baffled expression. "Just go home. I'll be at the Manor in the morning and we'll figure something out."

Draco sighed, knowing he would get nowhere else with the obstinate woman. He nodded curtly at her and went home.

~~ O ~~

Hermione tried to Fire-call Harry the minute the flames abated after Draco's departure. As expected, Harry's Floo was blocked, which meant he had probably set Anti-Apparition wards, as well. Something was definitely wrong. She debated storming over there and banging on the door until he was forced to let her in, but then he would just be in a snit and not tell her anything, anyway. She thought it might be more productive to do some investigative work.

She Flooed to the Ministry and, after a few quick probing questions to Harry's co-workers, discovered that Harry had gone to the Weasleys after leaving the office. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione wondered who she should contact next. Certainly not Ron. And Ginny had placed herself firmly in Ron's corner after Harry had tried to break it off with her. Hermione suspected one or both of them to be the cause of Harry's current frame of mind.

Arthur was a possibility, but getting him away from Molly's watchful eye would be nigh unto impossible before morning. Molly had made her feelings about Hermione's "betrayal" of Ron quite clear. She had received no contact from Molly whatsoever, even on her birthday. It had been no surprise to Hermione, of course, and she refused to let it sting. Molly still tried to bring Harry back into the fold, most likely for Ginny's sake, hence the continued invitations to family dinners.

George was the next logical choice. His irrepressible good cheer had dimmed with the death of his twin, but it had not disappeared. He treated Hermione the same as he always had, much to her relief. Unfortunately, he did not answer his Fire-call.

Hermione was stumped for a moment and then remembered Bill. He was regularly invited to the family dinners, according to Harry. He still worked at Gringotts and she certainly had his Floo-address handy. She had never forgotten it after the hectic time following the war. Although she was a bit nervous at calling, she stuck her head into the fireplace and almost cringed when Fleur answered. The French girl still rubbed Hermione the wrong way, even though she was always polite enough.

Hermione made up a song and dance about needing to talk to Bill about a case regarding access at Gringotts, making it sound boring enough to quickly cause Fleur's eyes to glaze over. She departed and Bill's face appeared.

"I lied," she said quickly in a low tone. "I need to ask you about Harry."

"Where are you?" Bill asked.

"At the Ministry. Department of Law Enforcement private Floo."

Bill turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Fleur, I need to go to the Ministry for a moment. I'll be right back."

Hermione pulled away from the fire and Bill stepped from the flames.

"Tell me what happened tonight," she said grimly.

~~ O ~~

Draco Flooed home and nearly ran down his mother when he exited. He righted himself and barely refrained from cursing.

"Draco!" she cried. "Did you leave the house?"

_Damn_. He was well and truly caught.

She glared at him. "Were you out with Harry Potter?"

Draco stared at her, wondering at her tone. She had hired the man, after all. Why would it upset her to think he gone somewhere with the Chosen One?

"No," he said truthfully and then winced, uncertain how to come up with an alternative. How would he explain his absence?

"You went OUT?" Her tone was shrill and she looked almost panicked.

"No one saw me, Mother," he said dryly.

"How can you be certain? Where did you go?"

"I went to check on something," Draco said vaguely. "I was quite safe and our little secret is quite safe, as well. Trust me to use my own judgement on that, at any rate."

She wanted to prod; Draco could see it in her face. She wanted desperately to know where he had gone, but he was suddenly just as adamant not to tell her. Two sets of determined eyes stared each other down and Narcissa looked away first. Draco's satisfaction warred with his relief.

"Your judgement might not be enough," she snapped. "This came while you were gone."

She handed him a rolled scroll and he took it willingly enough before frowning. He had seen the official Ministry seal enough times. The golden coloured banding around it revealed that it came from the Department of Law Enforcement's Azkaban Division. Draco opened it with a sense of foreboding.

"When?" she asked quietly.

"Next week," he replied.

His mother buried her face in his hands and Draco suddenly had a whole new reason to see Harry Potter.

~~ O ~~

Bill looked at Hermione curiously as he exited the flames. He looked as handsome as ever. The scars had faded and merely served to make him look slightly dangerous, an air he cultivated, she knew.

"Spill it," she said without preamble. "I want to know what's happened."

"Where is Harry?" Bill countered.

"Home. On lockdown. He won't answer to anyone." _Except Draco_, she added mentally, but she refused to allow that confrontation until she knew what else Harry might be dealing with.

Bill nodded. "Understandable. Apparently it came out tonight that Harry prefers the company of men."

Hermione had half-expected it, but she blanched anyway, and sank into a nearby chair. The room was mainly used for private witness statements, and contained only a sofa and two comfortable chairs. "Damn," she said softly.

Bill shrugged. "I think it's for the best. Perhaps Ginny will finally stop carrying a torch for him and move on with her life. We all knew that Harry never looked at Ginny that way. Well, I knew, at any rate. And George. Mum… Well, mum is an odd duck, at times."

Hermione's lips thinned. Molly's obstinacy was well-known to her.

Bill clucked sympathetically. "Don't worry, Mum will stop treating Ron like he's made of porcelain and snap out of it. Eventually." He did not sound convinced and Hermione ignored the comment.

"How did everyone take it?" she asked.

"Well, Ginny was livid, of course. She actually spilled the news to the rest of us, ranting at the top of her lungs and threatening to go straight to the papers."

Hermione winced.

"She didn't, though!" Bill hastened to add. "Dad talked her out of it. He sided with Harry, as did George and I. Mum seemed to be in shock. I think she took it worse than Ginny, truth be told."

"And Ron?" Hermione asked softly.

Bill shrugged. "I can't figure him out these days. He came in and said nothing. Not a bloody word, even when Ginny tried to get him to back her up. He only nodded to confirm her story and then left the room. Mum went after him and he told her to mind her bollocking business and that he needed some time to think."

Hermione gnawed on a fingernail.

For the first time in a long time, she debated contacting Ron.

~~ O ~~

Granger was persistent; Draco had to give her that. She insisted that Potter would be awake, even though it was just past ten in the morning. Draco was barely awake, himself, but he was determined to speak to Potter. While he watched, Granger repeatedly plucked at Potter's wards through the Floo until the constant vibration likely drove the Auror half-mad. Potter sounded like a snarling beast when he finally answered her Fire-call.

"Hermione. I am very tired. Can you just let me be?"

Draco could not see the angry Auror, since he was leaning against Granger's fireplace mantle, out of sight of Potter's face in the flames.

"No, I cannot, Harry. You can't bury your head in the sand and pretend all of your problems will just go away."

"You know about my problems, then?"

Draco hated to hear the Auror's voice sounding so defeated. It seemed unnatural, somehow.

"Yes, Harry. Now lower your wards."

"All right."

Granger got to her feet and looked at Draco with a sad smile. "You're up," she said softly. "Be kind."

Draco would have sneered at her, but he found himself strangely unable. He nodded instead. A handful of Floo-powder later and Draco stepped out of the fireplace into a room that looked oddly familiar. Potter gasped at the sight of him and Draco shook off the déjà vu in order to smirk at him.

"Clever girl, that Granger."

Potter muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Traitor", but Draco ignored it. He produced a piece of parchment with a flick of his wand and waved it toward the Auror.

"You need to do something about this!"

Potter's gaze transformed into confusion, but he gingerly took the scroll. He unrolled and scanned it before inhaling sharply and looking at Draco, who nodded. "Yes, Potter, it is nearly time for my annual visit to Azkaban."

"You can't go," Potter said inanely.

"Of course I can't go!" Draco snapped. "Not like this. But how will it look to my father if I don't appear? It's the one damned bright spot in his miserable life." Draco tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but failed. His father might have been a right arse, but Draco loved him. He missed him terribly, at times, and he especially missed his father's calming influence on his mother. She needed to do something besides pine away for her absent husband and rail at Draco's condition.

Potter nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. Speaking of your father, your mother made an interesting comment to me during our last conversation."

Draco cocked a brow.

"She suggested that your father might have a way of seeking revenge on certain people, even from Azkaban. Do you think that's true?"

Draco frowned and wondered why his mother would offer such information. "Revenge on what certain people?"

Potter coughed. "Well, revenge on whoever kidnapped you, for one."

Draco nodded, thinking it would be just the type of veiled threat his mother might use. It was true, however. The Malfoy fortune could grease many wheels, even in the face of seeming impossibility. The right bribe slipped to an Azkaban guard could guarantee that a message would be delivered into hands willing to shed blood, if necessary. In fact, Draco had taken note of many Galleons departing the Malfoy vault for places unknown. He had little doubt his father was living quite well in his prison cell, most likely supplied with the finest wine and choicest meals.

"Afraid, Potter?" he asked lightly. "Is that reason for your silly attempt to abandon my case?"

Potter's features tightened. He looked worn, as though he had not slept at all. His hair was worse than usual and he wore horrible brown plaid pyjama bottoms and an oversized grey t-shirt that hung nearly off of one shoulder at the neck.

"You know why," Potter said abruptly.

Draco hummed ambiguously. "I will have you know that if you attempt to drop my case, I will bring legal action against the Ministry. And against you, personally."

Potter seemed to go rigid with shock. "What?" he asked as his features turned dark with anger.

Draco nearly smiled. This was the Potter he knew. The lion, not the quailing cub. Energy fairly crackled around the Auror. "You heard me."

"You can't do that," Potter hissed.

"I can and I will. You made an agreement to find those responsible for turning me into this monster and I will hold you to it." Draco turned away, as if to step back into the fireplace and depart, but then he faced Potter once more and held out his hand imperiously. "I will have my letter back, if you please."

Potter stalked forward, all leashed anger and controlled magic. With a heady rush, Draco realized he had wanted the man for a very long time. When Potter's fist shot toward him to offer the scroll clenched tightly in his fingers, Draco took hold of Potter's wrist and waited for the visions to assail him. They did not disappoint.

_Potter was shouting and casting spells as coloured bolts flew dangerously past his head_. A shift and then _he sprawled on a background of manicured grass, laughing, his black hair gleaming against the green_. Another blur and then _Potter sat in a pub, holding a mug of something dark and frothing, laughing and licking at the foam moustache that perched on his upper lip_.

And then the visions were gone and it was just Potter, staring at him with wide green eyes. Draco took a single step and flicked his wings forward to enfold them around the Auror. Without releasing Potter's wrist, he leaned in and kissed him.

~~ O ~~

Harry was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because _Draco Malfoy was kissing him_. Malfoy was kissing him and his wings were folded around him like a pristine cloak, and only the fact that the scenario was a thousand times better than any dream gave him room for doubt.

Malfoy had been acting so normal—supercilious and demanding—that Harry had thought he meant to ignore the whole balcony kiss thing. And now this. This… _utter brilliance_.

He hardly dared to breathe as Malfoy's lips skated over his, lightly at first, and then with more pressure, urging a response. Harry gave him one, curling his free hand around Malfoy's waist to drag him closer before opening his mouth to give him access. Malfoy accepted the offering, dipping his tongue inside and sliding it into Harry's sensitive areas until he thought his knees might buckle. He thought they might have, anyway, if Malfoy's wings had not held him up.

When Malfoy finally stopped kissing him, Harry pulled back to stare at him with blurred vision. He thought it was an odd reaction to a kiss, even though it had been quite spectacular, and then he realized his glasses had gone askew.

Malfoy reached up to straighten them and Harry's vision sharpened.

"Goodness, Potter. One snog and you look ready to faint."

"I think I might," Harry admitted breathlessly.

Malfoy laughed and Harry thought it might be the nicest sound he'd ever heard. He smiled in return. "You kissed me first," Malfoy reminded him.

"You're right. Smartest thing I ever did?" Harry suggested hopefully.

"That remains to be seen," Malfoy said. "Right now it ranks up there with the most foolish. Why did you do it?"

"It's your hair," Harry admitted.

Malfoy frowned. "My hair?"

Harry nodded. "I have a weakness for blonds." He reached up and touched Malfoy's hair almost reverently.

"Blonds," Malfoy repeated with a voice like iron.

"Yes. Especially blonds with grey eyes."

"Really?" The iron softened slightly. "That seems somewhat… rare."

"Very rare. And I seem to be partial to Malfoys."

A hint of a smirk touched Malfoy's lips. "Blond, grey-eyed Malfoys."

Harry nodded again. "But only blond, grey-eyed Malfoys with _wings_."

"You have rather selective taste."

"Indeed."

"It appears lucky that you have located such a specimen."

"Extremely lucky," Harry replied and pulled Malfoy into another kiss. This time Harry was the aggressor. His kiss made it perfectly clear that he wanted Malfoy, and if that did not let him know, then his growing erection was certainly a clue.

Malfoy broke the kiss once more, panting. "Potter. It _is_ the wings, isn't it? It's the damned wings or some side effect of the magic."

Harry held him tighter, with one hand in his hair and one around his waist.

"No. It's not the wings and it's not the magic. It's _you_, Malfoy. Draco. It's been you since the first time I saw you again. Possibly even before that."

"Before that?"

"Yeah, you were an utter prat at Hogwarts, but a bloody gorgeous prat. I noticed that even before I knew I liked blokes." Harry smiled when Malfoy looked bemused, and he added, "I do like the wings, though. Can I touch them?"

~~ O ~~

Draco stilled at Potter's words. Logically, he did not think Potter would be repulsed by them, especially since he had touched them before. But logic seemed far away at the moment, buried beneath the insanity of Harry Potter not only preferring men, but wanting him. Would the desire in Potter's eyes turn to disgust?

"I mean, only if you want me to," Potter added in true Gryffindor fashion. It seemed a simple enough request since Potter had already snogged the breath from him. Twice. Draco steeled himself and nodded.

Potter, of course, refused to do anything the normal way. Instead of reaching immediately for Draco's wings, he lifted his hands to Draco's face. His fingers traced Draco's forehead and ghosted over his eyebrows as his thumbs moved over his cheekbones.

Potter pressed a light kiss against Draco's lips and slid his hands down to caress his neck on both sides before gliding them down to his shoulders. Draco was suddenly glad he had worn only a modified vest rather than a full shirt, because Potter's warm hands on his skin felt delightful.

Potter took a deep, slow breath and then Draco felt fingers lightly touch his wings where they attached to his shoulders. Potter's hands curled over them and brushed upward. Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. Electrified quivers seemed to run through his body, but part of that might have been due to Potter's breath huffing against his cheek.

"Draco," Potter said in a whisper. "Merlin, they're so soft."

Draco dropped his head onto Potter's shoulder, trying to fight the growing pool of heat that threatened to burn him alive. He held Potter more tightly and allowed his hands to skim down over Potter's back and waist to splay over his arse. Draco's first time groping another man's arse felt surprisingly good. Potter's was firm and excellently rounded, and his response to Draco's touch was brilliant; he practically melted into him with a humming sound, and his erection pressed against Draco deliciously.

Between the wing-touching and the feel of Potter against him, Draco suddenly needed more. He picked up the Auror, lifting him easily by his grip on Potter's buttocks, and sliding their cocks over each other until Potter's rested firmly against Draco's abdomen.

The movement startled Potter, who made a low cry and gripped Draco's wings for balance. His legs wrapped firmly around Draco's waist as he murmured, "Sorry." His hands loosened on the wings and Draco chuckled.

"I don't think you can break them," Draco commented.

Potter let go, anyway, and clung to Draco's neck instead. "I've never been picked up, before."

"I am not surprised. The way you dress is at fault, most likely. You really should try harder."

"Prat," Potter muttered into his hair, but his tone was amused. "Are you taking me somewhere?"

"Your bedroom?" Draco asked.

"Good choice. Up the stairs. Door at the end of the hall."

~~ TBC ~~

This is totally not a cliffhanger. It's a... ledge. :D


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry this took so long, but this chapter had ISSUES. I had to go over it again (and rewrite loads of it) and then send it to my lovely beta for approval and then fix some more stuff. BUT I THINK IT'S READABLE NOW. :D

**Chapter Twelve**

_When love beckons to you, follow him,_

_Though his ways are hard and steep._

_And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,_

_Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you._

_- Kahil Gibran_

Harry was giddy. He felt like he was floating as Draco ascended the stairs, carrying him as though he were weightless. He decided there was something special about having a boyfriend with superior strength. Not that Draco was his boyfriend, or even his lover, yet. Hopefully, that would be remedied very soon.

He kissed Draco again, forcing him to stop rather than walk them into a wall. Draco laughed when Harry pulled away.

"Eager?"

"You have no idea," Harry said breathlessly.

Draco continued on into the bedroom and tossed Harry haphazardly onto the centre of the bed. "Clothes off," he said thickly.

Harry's breath caught and for a brief instant he wondered if Draco was playing a horrible trick on him; that he planned to humiliate him at the worst possible moment.

But then Draco reached up and grabbed the collar of his own shirt and tore it away with a quick jerk. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers next and Harry decided if Draco planned to embarrass him, he was going about it all wrong.

He quickly yanked his own shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Draco drew in a quick breath and Harry's gaze flashed to him before he realized what had drawn Draco's attention. The feather, still on a chain around his neck.

Draco said nothing, but a soft smile curved his lips, making Harry's blush deepen, but more with pleasure than embarrassment. He was not ashamed of the token. To prove it, he removed his trousers, and after a moment of hesitation, his pants, as well. He sat on the bed and then pushed himself back to lie flat, heart pounding with something resembling terror, but the look in Draco's eyes alleviated it; he seemed ready to devour Harry. Draco's gaze fixed once more on the feather that Harry wore around his neck.

Draco's trousers slid to the floor and he stepped out of them. Harry raised himself on his elbows, eager for his first sight of Draco uncovered. He was not disappointed. The blond's body was stunning. Absolutely stunning.

"Have you always looked like that?" Harry asked.

"Like what?" Draco asked with a frown.

"Gorgeous," Harry breathed.

Draco smiled. "Yes, I believe so."

Harry raised a beckoning hand. "Come here, gorgeous."

Draco walked forward and joined him. Harry was glad his bed was a simple four-poster without a canopy or bed curtains, because Draco's wings had room to spread. Harry's breath caught at the angelic sight as Draco climbed over the top of him.

"I suppose there is no question of who tops?" Draco asked.

Harry chuckled. "Not unless you want to get creative." He tried to make it clear that he had no problem with anything Draco chose to do. He could hardly fathom that Draco was actually here, _in his bed_.

Harry lifted his hands to Draco's face and drew him down for a kiss. It was like nothing he had ever imagined, soft and tender, and filled with more emotion than he would have dreamed. In his fantasies, their kisses were always rough and passionate, but the reality was so much better.

Harry touched him, sliding his hands over his shoulders, arms, and chest, mapping the feel of Draco's skin. He felt Draco doing the same, touching him everywhere. Harry avoided the wings at first, content to caress Draco's lovely skin all the way down to the curve of his amazing arse, but eventually one hand stole up to stroke the feathers of one wing. Draco gasped.

"Can you feel that?" Harry asked in puzzlement. He would have expected the feathers to be lacking sensation.

"Yes. I think it has something to do with the magic. My feathers are much more sensitive than my skin. It's… odd."

"Wow," Harry said and Draco laughed. He must have looked surprised.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Your laugh. It's beautiful."

Amazingly, Draco flushed and then lowered his head to capture Harry's lips again. This time when his hands began to move, they did not hold back. Strong fingers stroked along Harry's cock and then wrapped around it tightly.

"_This_ is beautiful," Draco said with a grin.

Harry could not reply, he could only make a guttural sound in the back of his throat, and arch into Draco's touch.

"No, _you're_ beautiful," he gasped when he could find enough breath. He sought for, and located, Draco's cock, nestled in a soft tangle of curls. It felt incredible. He stroked it firmly, matching Draco's movements with his, banging their thumbs together until they found the same rhythm.

"Romantic sap," Draco said and Harry laughed breathlessly.

"Sometimes, yeah," he admitted. He groaned as Draco's palm curved over the head of his cock and twisted. "Oh, we need to stop or…"

"Harry?"

Harry's eyes widened and his hands stilled. "Godric, say that again."

Draco frowned. "Say what?"

"My name. I don't think you've ever said it before."

Draco nuzzled his face onto Harry's neck with a snorted chuckle. "You are impossible."

Harry released Draco's cock and curled his arms around his muscular back. "Very. Are you going to fuck me, now?"

Draco's lips pressed into Harry's throat for a moment and he said, "I don't… I'm not sure I know how."

Harry shut his eyes, overcome with the knowledge that this would be Draco's first time, at least with a man. Harry didn't care a whit about Draco's familiarity with females. "Well, then, it will be a learning experience for us both."

Draco reared back in surprise and his wings lifted in a lovely canopy.

Harry laughed. "Don't look so shocked! I only recently accepted the fact that I prefer men. I did not immediately rush out and garner experience."

A smile curved Draco's lips, making him look alternately devilish and insanely gorgeous. He stared at Harry in a manner that seemed positively possessive—or perhaps that was only wishful thinking on Harry's part.

"I find that curiously erotic, Pott—Harry," Draco said in a quiet tone.

The statement got Harry going again, not that he was in any danger of losing his erection. "Prove it," he said with a wicked grin.

Draco groaned and set about proving it. His hands stroked Harry's skin and he followed the trail of his fingers with his lips. When he reached Harry's erection, he paused, locked his gaze with Harry's, and then licked a stripe up the centre of his prick. Harry arched nearly off the bed when Draco took it into his mouth.

"Merlin!" he cried. He could not tear his eyes away, amazed that Draco still managed to look smug with a cock in his mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as it emerged, wet and glistening, from Draco's lips only to disappear once more. The feel of Draco's flattened tongue was indescribable.

Before he became completely lost in sensation, Harry Summoned his wand from the floor and then cast another Summoning Charm to snap a bottle of lubricant into his hand from the bedside drawer.

"Here," he said and thrust it at Draco. "Before it's too late. You might want to stop doing that or I won't make it to the main event. Not that I'm complaining; but I want it to be good for you, too."

Draco released his cock with a final lick and grinned at him. "What makes you think it isn't good for me, Harry?"

Harry had to close his eyes and remember to breathe, because the idea that Draco Malfoy _liked_ sucking his cock was orgasm-inducing all on its own. His fingers carded through Draco's hair and caressed the sides of his face. He opened his eyes and said, "Far be it from me to stop you, then."

Draco took the bottle and examined the cap. "I think your idea has merit. How does this work?"

Harry thought he referred to the cap and nearly replied, but then he realized what Draco meant. "Oh. Um, first you put lube… on your fingers…" He blushed hotly as he explained the mechanics. To Draco's credit, he never cracked a smirk, but listened intently.

When Harry finished explaining—although, truthfully, his own knowledge had been gleaned from a sizeable stack of porn magazines and various books picked up in far-away Muggle stores—Draco opened the cap and poured out the viscous fluid. The scent of citrus wafted over them.

"Orange, Harry?"

"I like oranges," Harry murmured and then gasped when Draco touched him _there._

"Cold?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. "It's fine. Just feels… really good."

That was an understatement. It felt incredible. When the tip of Draco's finger breached him, Harry forced himself to relax. He had done the same to himself, of course, but it was incredibly different under the control of someone else.

"Still?" Draco's voice was hushed.

Harry nodded. "More," he said.

Draco obliged, inserting a second finger that had Harry arching his spine and making an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat. Draco's lips pressed into the hollow of his neck. His fingers pulled out slightly and then pushed back in.

"Ngh. More," Harry murmured. "More."

Draco pushed in a third finger and for a moment Harry thought it was too much; it had to be too much. But his body adjusted quickly and seemed to pull at Draco's digits as though seeking additional stimulation.

"Fuck, Harry," Draco said in an almost unrecognizable voice.

Harry managed a chuckle. "Yes, please."

Draco nodded and then tugged his fingers free. An additional application of lubricant renewed the scent in the room and then Draco's cock was pushing tentatively against Harry's entrance..

"Salazar, Harry, it's not going to fit. There is no possible way this will—"

Harry thrust his hips forward, effectively impaling himself on Draco's cock. Draco made a choking noise and Harry smirked. "You were saying?"

Draco swallowed hard and Harry relaxed his fingers with effort, having curled them into Draco's skin hard enough to leave bruises. He tried to relax in other areas, also, but it was difficult.

"Bloody Gryffindor," Draco said breathily. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just… Don't move quite yet."

"No problem. I think if I move it will all be over. For me, at least."

Harry chuckled and the movement made him gasp. "Cancel that," he said in a strangled voice. "I need you to move."

"In or out?" Draco asked and the urgency in his voice made Harry want to laugh again. He knew instinctively that Draco would abandon his pleasure without hesitation if Harry professed to be in pain. He marvelled at how much Draco had changed—or, more likely, how little Harry had known him to begin with.

"In," he said. "Definitely in."

He thought he heard a sigh of relief, but it was lost in a wave of sensation as Draco's cock moved ever deeper, until Harry felt the brush of Draco's testicles against his arse. That, in itself, was an unusual sensation and he revelled in it for a moment before giving in to the exploration of other, more urgent, impressions.

Draco pulled nearly out, making an extremely erotic, almost primal sound as he did so. "Potter… Harry. Oh, Salazar, Harry." He pushed forward again, obviously determined to keep it slow and steady in order to spare Harry as much pain as possible. Harry allowed it for a short time and then urged him to pick up the pace.

Draco complied, thrusting deeper and with increasing speed, but then he paused, seeming to remember something. "Harry. Touch yourself."

Harry blinked at him for a moment and then blushed when he realized what Draco meant. He had been perfectly happy with the situation, but the very thought of Draco watching him as he wrapped a hand around his cock… Draco watched. His eyes fixed on Harry's hand as it rose and curled around his hard prick. He stroked a couple of times, tentatively, because he was so fucking close to losing it and Draco was _watching_ him…

"Draco, I'm going to—"

"Me, too," he said fervently. "I think—"

Whatever he thought was lost in Harry's shout. He jerked wildly as an immense orgasm rushed through him, so intense he thought his toes might never uncurl. His release shot over his abdomen, hot and thick, pumping out with each stroke. His other hand splayed over Draco's shoulder and he felt shudders wrack Draco's body even as long fingers dug into his hips hard enough to leave marks of ownership.

Draco's face lowered and ragged breaths wafted against Harry's neck, though neither of them altered their grips. After a moment, Harry's hand fell away to dangle limply at his side.

"Draco," he said.

"Mmmm?" Lips pressed into his throat.

"We're floating."

"Yes, it feels like it," Draco agreed languidly.

Harry wondered if Draco always dropped off to sleep after mind-blowing sex and thought he could definitely get behind that habit, but not quite yet. "No, I mean we're really floating."

Draco's head snapped up and he glanced around. Harry turned his head, hoping they were still in the vicinity of the bed, because they hovered mere feet from the ceiling. Draco's wings flexed and brushed the wooden beams.

"Fuck!" Draco said and immediately flipped them over. Harry, barely holding on and not ready for the sudden movement, nearly slipped completely across Draco and off, but a combination of arms and wings caught him and righted him atop Draco's chest.

"Well, this is novel," Harry said in amusement.

~~ O ~~

Draco stared up at Harry, whose arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. His thighs clenched around Draco's hips, riding him like a Thestral. Draco's cock had slipped out during the manoeuvre, so Harry edged upward. His amusement was a surprise; Draco would have expected fear or horror at being suddenly suspended in midair, but then, Harry Potter was no ordinary man.

"Did I forget to mention I could make you feel like you were flying?" Draco asked, making an effort to tease.

"We _are_ flying."

"Semantics."

Harry laughed again and then sobered. "I can't believe you're here. I still can't believe this is real."

Draco frowned. "I thought I had done a very good job of convincing you of the reality of the situation."

Harry cocked his head. "Hmm, I don't know, it still seems quite dreamlike. After all, I am hovering in the air atop a criminally gorgeous man with amazing wings and the most luscious body… No, I would say I need a lot more convincing."

A wicked grin curved Harry's lips and Draco found himself returning the expression. He had not expected Harry Potter to be adorable and amusing in the bedchamber. Passionate and intense, yes (and Salazar knew he was that, as well), but _fun_? That was unexpected.

Draco kissed him and then slowly lowered them back to the bed, lifting his wings out of the way as best he could. Lying on his back was difficult, but not impossible.

"That can't be comfortable," Harry murmured and then stroked both hands over the upper coverts of Draco's wings, drawing a startled breath.

"No, but… You really like the wings, don't you?"

Harry flushed and nodded, still running his hands along the feathers. It felt delightful.

"Why?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled, looking more like an adorable schoolboy than the extraordinarily powerful wizard that he was. It was strangely humbling. "I don't know. They are fascinating. And they are really beautiful. When I was a boy, I used to run into the local church to escape bullies. And my cousin. I used to admire the statues and paintings of angels. They made me feel safe, I suppose."

"I'm not an angel, Potter."

"Mmm, I know. You're a _man_. A very nice man."

"I am not a nice man!"

Harry dropped his face and snickered into Draco's neck. "No, you're right. How silly of me. You are a dastardly man. Wicked, even."

Draco smiled and mouthed at Harry's black hair, tugging at it with his lips. "Quite right," he growled, inhaling the tangible scent of it.

Harry laughed again and his body rocked atop Draco's, sending his thoughts spiralling in another direction as he considered Harry rocking atop him for another reason. Before he could put his idea into practice, an insistent tapping sounded at the window.

Harry's head jerked up and Draco could almost see the Auror mask drop into place. "I should get that. It might be an emergency."

Draco nodded and Harry levered himself from Draco's body and padded, naked, to the window. Draco manoeuvred his wings so that he no longer lay on them and rested on one elbow to admire Harry's lovely arse. Draco cast an absent spell to clean up the mess coating his stomach.

Harry opened the window to admit a blast of cold air that left him wincing. An owl fluttered in and attached itself to the perch in one corner of the room. It immediately shook snow from its wings and fluffed its feathers until it looked like a stuffed toy. As Harry approached, it stuck out a foot obediently.

Harry looked at Draco apologetically before reaching for the message. "It's Ron's owl," he commented.

Draco's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He hated for reality to intrude on their interlude. Having Harry Potter for a lover was a fabulous fantasy, but in actuality, he knew it was impossible. Harry was an Auror, the Golden Scion of the Ministry. And Draco was a former Death Eater with the wings of a freak. A passing fancy, at best.

Harry scanned the note.

"Does he need something?" Draco asked as casually as possible.

"Nothing that can't wait," Harry said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He gave the owl a treat and then walked back to the bed. He half-crumpled the paper and dropped it on the bedside table before sliding onto the mattress next to Draco, who braced himself for the return of the visions. They were less intense this time, and seemed of shorter duration, which was a relief. Draco's brief foray a vision of _Potter drinking from a chipped mug and turning sharply to glare at someone out of range_ was not noticed by the Auror, who tucked himself in next to Draco and gave a heartfelt sigh.

"Will you clean me up, too?" he asked. "I feel a bit sticky."

Draco cast the spell again and Harry sighed happily and snuggled closer. Draco realized with a jolt that he had seen this version of Harry before—in a vision. Tousled hair and dark red sheets… apparently Draco's visions were prophetic. "What are you doing, Potter?"

"Harry," he corrected. "And I'm resting. I'm very tired. For some reason, I slept badly last night."

Draco stretched out and made himself more comfortable, drawing Harry's body against his and linking their legs together. As an afterthought, he brought one wing forward to curl it around Harry's nude form. He pondered the Auror's words and remembered Granger's suggestion that something had happened to upset him. He thought about asking, but knew their intimacy was not a substitute for friendship.

Harry sighed in seeming contentment and buried his face in the hollow of Draco's throat. "Will you stay?" he murmured. "For a while?"

"I'll stay," Draco whispered around a strange tightness in his throat.

"Good."

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Harry's breathing until it grew deep and regular, but even then he did not move.

~~ O ~~

Hermione walked purposefully through the Atrium, deep in thought, absently skirting assorted Ministry employees. Obviously, Draco had talked Harry into listening to him, at least for a time, or he would have been back through the fire and ranting angrily about "stupid Gryffindors" and "stubborn Aurors" and suchlike. Hermione had waited nearly thirty minutes to verify it and then Flooed back to work.

She had nervously scanned the newspapers that morning, worried that Ginny's anger would get the better of her, but there had been no mention of Harry. Hermione had gone to work for a couple of hours before departing for Malfoy Manor to fetch Draco. Even though she was technically on holiday, there were still a number of projects that she hated to leave unfinished.

The lift doors pinged and she ran for them, slipping inside just as they were closing. A young man stood stiffly in one corner and an elderly woman stared at Hermione with a steely gaze as she requested Level Two.

"Hermione Granger, is it not?" the woman asked. Her sharp voice belied the age evident in her features. Her face resembled a shrunken, dried apple, deeply lined and leathery, but the eyes that peered out were sharp and intelligent.

"Yes, Madam Marchbanks," Hermione said politely. Griselda Marchbanks had resigned from the Wizengamot during the Umbridge debacle, but she returned often in an advisory capacity. Hermione thought it unlikely that the old girl would ever fully disentangle herself from the politics of the Wizarding World. It was obvious she loved it far too much.

The old woman snorted. "No need to be formal. You may call me Griselda. How is your friend, Harry Potter?"

Hermione smiled wanly. In truth, she was used to people asking about Harry; he came up in casual conversation more often than not. She didn't mind, really, but sometimes she thought it might be nice if someone would simply ask about _her._

"Harry is fine. He is working on a case, at the moment."

The young man's gaze had sharpened and he studied Hermione with more interest, but she ignored him as the lift stopped at the first floor. The doors opened and he sidled out with obvious reluctance. "Have a pleasant day, Madam Marchbanks. Ms Granger," he said.

The doors shut and Griselda's ancient lips twisted. "Insufferable bootlicker. I can't abide the younger generation. Present company excluded."

Hermione had to smile. At least the words seemed sincere. The lift began to rise once more.

"What case is Potter working on?" Griselda asked.

Hermione nearly sighed aloud. She wondered what age, exactly, entitled one to speak precisely what was on their mind without fear of being thought pushy or obnoxious. She supposed it varied by person. She was about to politely mention that she was not at liberty to say—and also to pretend she was not privy to Harry's professional cases, even though that would have been a lie—when it occurred to her that Griselda had been around a long time. A very long time.

"Madam… Griselda. Do you remember a very old case involving Gunther Pokeby?" she asked.

"Pokeby?" Griselda's expression was blank.

"Yes, he was experimenting, trying to recreate winged people—the Anakim."

Griselda drew in a startled breath. "Gunther Pokeby," she repeated. "Yes. Yes, I do remember now. Those poor boys. The Pokebys always were a bit mad, but Gunther was, by far, the worst. What he did…"

Hermione nodded. "Can you think of anyone that might want to take up where he left off? Someone with a similar obsession? Also, is there anyone capable of recreating the potions he was attempting to make?"

Griselda frowned. "Why? Please tell me that sort of horror has not begun anew."

Hermione considered Draco. She would not consider him a horror, and Harry certainly did not, but Draco did. Narcissa did as well, apparently, and Lucius… She shuddered at the thought of what Lucius Malfoy would say about his son's transformation. "It's possible," she admitted.

The lift doors opened on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and both women stepped out. The long hallway was deserted and Griselda paused near the bank of windows that showed the budding trees of a pleasant spring day—a far cry from the reality of snow-laden clouds.

The old woman sighed. "Sometimes, I feel I have seen too much. Is someone truly trying to recreate Gunther's potions? To what purpose? Gunther was obsessed with bringing back the ancestors of the Veela, although his motives were unknown to anyone but himself. Not even his trial disclosed his true purpose, although I believe it was simply a case of experimentation for its own sake. He wanted to bring them back merely to see if he could."

"I don't think the motive this time is quite so obscure. I believe someone is using the potion as revenge," Hermione admitted. "By changing a normal wizard into… something no longer human."

Griselda's gaze sharpened. "Using the potion? Are you saying this has already happened? The potion exists?"

Hermione swallowed and nodded. Griselda said nothing as two Aurors approached, greeted the women amiably, and waited for the lift. Silence stretched between them as the Aurors waited for the doors to open, casting curious glances toward them as they argued over where to have lunch. Hermione said nothing until the doors were safely closed and they were alone once more.

"It exists. And it has been used. The problem is, we don't know who has the capability to recreate such a thing. We recovered Gunther's notes, but they are all coded and very difficult to decipher. Plus, the fact that _we have Gunther's notes_ causes me to wonder how the perpetrator managed to make the potion at all. That, and the lack of a clear motive, has turned this case into a nightmare of dead ends." Hermione's frustration was evident in her voice. It was a relief to unburden herself; the strain of maintaining a positive attitude around Draco and Harry both was more immense than she had realized.

"You are saying a potion like Gunther's has been used?" Griselda sounded disbelieving.

Hermione nodded.

"Then, there was another death? Why haven't we heard of this?" Griselda's eyes narrowed, as though Hermione had intentionally kept such news from the Wizarding World.

Hermione swallowed hard and looked around carefully to make certain they were not being overheard. She quickly cast a _Muffliato_, just in case. "He didn't die. The potion worked. The victim… well, he is now very similar to an Anakim. It's unbelievable, really."

Griselda fairly goggled at her. "He has wings?"

Hermione nodded. "Very nice wings, actually. And increased strength. He seems to be in excellent physical condition. We haven't run tests, of course, because he is not an experimental animal. He retains all of his faculties, as well as his abilities as a wizard. He simply has… wings."

"Then Gunther's final potion actually worked," Griselda whispered.

"Yes. We just don't know how they did it. There must have been a copy of his notes; either that or he was working with someone. I found nothing at all in Gunther's Ministry file, however. There was no mention of an apprentice or accomplice. And the Pokeby family is long dead. There were no cousins or relatives that we know of."

"What about the potion?" Griselda asked sharply.

Hermione frowned, not understanding the question.

"The potion," Griselda repeated. "The one that was seized when Gunther was arrested."

Hermione's confusion deepened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Gunther was attempting to administer a potion to a young man when he was arrested. The potion itself was used as evidence at the trial. It was analyzed. Where is the Analysis Report? And the potion itself? Have you tested it?"

Hermione shook her head. "I saw no mention of a potion in the file," she whispered. "And there was no Analysis Report…" Her eyes widened as she realized the implications. No one had recreated Gunther Pokeby's potion. They had simply _stolen_ it.

"Where would it have been taken?" she asked breathlessly.

"The Department of Mysteries, of course," Griselda replied.

Hermione thanked her and ran for the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift.

~~ O ~~

Draco eased away from Harry's sleeping form and then gently covered him with the blankets. He resisted the urge to comb the dark hair away from Harry's eyes and instead turned to find his clothing. As much as he would love to be in Harry's bed when he awakened, he really needed to get back to the Manor and work on the potions. Granger was probably wondering what was taking so long.

He flushed as he realized she probably knew quite well what had taken so long and he smiled as he basked in the memory for a moment. Harry was amazing. It still surprised him that Granger was, apparently, perfectly fine with their relationship. Not that they had a relationship. More of a… thing.

Draco dragged on his pants and trousers with a low groan, unwilling to think about the ramifications of a one-time fling with Harry Potter. He had more important things to worry about.

The crumpled paper on the bedside table caught his attention and he fought with his conscience for a moment before walking over and snatching it up. The words did nothing to help him puzzle out the mystery behind them.

_Harry, I need to talk to you right away. Ron_

He did, however, place a single kiss on Harry's exposed shoulder before making his way downstairs and taking the Floo home.

Thankfully, his mother was nowhere in sight. To his surprise, Granger was not in the makeshift laboratory. A Fire-call to her house was unanswered. He decided she was probably off looking for another book or a potion ingredient, and set to preparing the next batch of components.

An hour later, he was interrupted by a house-elf. "Master Draco is receiving an owl message. Homely is not recognizing the owl."

Draco frowned and set the silver knife aside. None of the potions were at a critical stage and the juniper berries would be fine if he left off crushing them for a few minutes. "Very well. Where is Mother?"

"Mistress Narcissa is being out. She is not telling Homely where she is going or when she is returning."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief; one less problem to worry about. He dismissed the house-elf and then completely cheated by taking to the air and flying through the house to reach his bedroom much faster than walking would have allowed.

A strange, grey owl sat on the perch in his room, shaking snow from its feathers after obviously having been rescued from the balcony by Homely. It looked at him almost reproachfully, but obediently lifted a foot. A distinctive blue band around the owl's left leg was telling evidence—the owl belonged to the Diagon Alley Messenger Service. A hired animal, then, and not a pet.

The message was written on plain parchment in a black scrawl that looked as though it had been penned in anger.

_How do you like being a freak, Malfoy_?

Draco's breath caught and he nearly crumpled the paper in a rage. He backed away from the owl, trembling, and sat heavily in a nearby chair—after nearly knocking it over with his wings. Fucking _wings_.

_How do you like being a freak_?

He had been so busy, and then there was Harry… Draco had started to forget how much of an outcast he truly was. How much of a _freak_. And they were no closer to finding the culprits than they had been. The bastards were still out there and now they were taunting him; laughing at him. He let the paper flutter to the floor. Harry… Potter would probably want it for evidence, for all the good it would do.

Draco put his head in his hands and sat in the chair for a long time.

~~ TBC ~~


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Thirteen**

_When once you have tasted flight,_

you will forever walk the earth

with your eyes turned skyward,

for there you have been,

and there you will always long to return.

- Douglas Adams

Harry was alone when he awakened. He was not surprised, especially considering it was still daylight and Draco obviously had better things to do than sleep the day away waiting for Harry to wake up. Still, he was a bit disappointed to find Draco gone.

A quick Tempus Charm showed that it was only midday. He was starved, so he allowed Kreacher to fix him a sandwich while he took a quick shower and got dressed. He wolfed down the meat and cucumber laden bread, washing it down with two cups of strong tea. Thus fortified, he thanked the house-elf and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

He appeared on Draco's balcony, the scene of his recent impulsive kiss. Harry noticed the fresh snow on the railing had been disturbed—by an owl? A set of small footprints seemed to confirm the hypothesis. Obviously, a house-elf had retrieved the bird and taken it into Draco's room.

Harry hesitated only a moment before putting his hand on the cold metal latch and turning it. To his surprise, it opened easily. He had expected it to be locked, even though the Malfoy wards would have warned Draco of any intruder. Thankfully, Harry was still allowed past the wards. He had wondered if Narcissa Malfoy would alter them to keep him out.

Harry drew in a breath when he saw Draco seated in a chair with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling. A strange owl sat on the perch near the door—it hooted softly when Harry's attention went to it. A piece of parchment lay on the floor at Draco's feet.

"Potter." The word was flat and quiet, devoid of all feeling. Harry felt a sense of dread upon hearing it. Something had happened—something that had little to do with what had taken place between them, and possibly everything to do with the scrap of discarded paper.

He took several quick steps forward and snatched it up. His breath caught when he read the words and he looked at Draco quickly. The grey eyes were closed and Draco looked oddly weary, almost defeated.

"When did this arrive?" Harry asked.

"Hours ago," Draco said in a tone that suggested boredom.

Harry whirled and quickly examined the owl. Diagon Alley. The kidnappers had gone to Diagon Alley in order to send the note to Draco. Harry gathered up the bird, ignoring the surprised hoot and attempted flutter of wings. It obviously did not appreciate the manhandling.

"I'll be back," Harry said in a grim voice. With that, he Disapparated, taking the owl with him.

~~ O ~~

Hermione pushed the files aside in frustrated annoyance. She had gone through them piece by piece by piece, hoping to find some reference to the potion, but whomever had taken it had done an admirable job of eradicating all sign of it. The arrest record had been modified—that much was obvious once she knew what to look for. All mention of the recovered potion had been stricken from the file. The most telling evidence was a blank line on the Evidence Log itself where something had obviously been erased. A quick spell retrieved the words—even Vanished, ink left an imprint on parchment that could not be erased without more skill than that exhibited by the thieves.

It was small satisfaction to Hermione that she could recover lost words—she still had no clue as to the identity of the person, or persons, that had stolen it. The words: _unidentified potion in clear glass vial_ seemed to mock her.

She thought again about the analysis report. Someone had to have seen the potion. They had to have taken it, examined it, extracted it and cast several spells on it. There should be a list of potential ingredients and a hypothesis of the intended effects, written by someone who had worked in the Department of Mysteries at the time of Gunther Pokeby's arrest.

Hermione shoved all the papers back into a pile, closed the file, and went out, locking her office door with several spells. Her stride was determined as she made her way to the Personnel Department, pausing only once to fill a cup with peppermint tea. The records clerk liked it piping hot with a hint of honey. Hermione had accessed obscure records in the past; she knew the best way to get at them.

~~ O ~~

Potter returned in an obvious rage. Draco had tried to pull himself together after the Auror's departure, and he managed to meet him with some semblance of composure. That composure was completely shattered when Potter walked through the balcony doors, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Draco's trousers, and dragged him forward into a kiss.

It was bruising, intense, and altogether possessive. It also did more to steady Draco's nerves than all of his brooding and cursing of fate, even with the added assault of the visions. Draco ignored them this time, concentrating on the feel of Potter's lips and tongue. The Auror's anger was tangible and it was not directed at Draco, but rather at Draco's enemies. It was a heady thought.

"I missed you," Potter said roughly. His hands moved to Draco's waist and pulled him even closer. They kissed for longer than Draco thought was prudent. He wanted to know what Potter had found, plus the prolonged dance of tongues and lips was making it difficult to concentrate, especially when the blood that should have been feeding his brain had migrated to lower regions.

"What…?" Draco tried, pushed Potter away slightly, and tried again. "What did you discover?"

Potter sighed heavily and stepped back, as if putting distance between them would enable him to deliver bad news. Draco followed, unwilling to lose contact with Potter's skin. He would rather not suffer premonitions every time Potter touched him. His fingers wrapped around Potter's wrist and held lightly. Potter did not pull away.

"I'm sorry. The clerk in Diagon Alley did not remember anything, except that it was a man who ordered the message sent. He wore heavy black robes and a hood. The clerk remembered only that he seemed to have large hands. No identifying jewellery. He paid using a single Galleon and provided your address on a slip of paper. The clerk did not remember him speaking at all. To make matters worse, a Masking Charm was cast on the parchment to mar the magical signature." Potter's free hand rose to yank at his hair in a gesture of angry frustration and he cursed roundly. "I can't believe this!" he half-shouted. "I can't catch a single fucking break!"

Draco, who had been thinking the exact same thing all afternoon, suddenly found it important to reassure Potter, but once wound up, the Auror seemed to find it difficult to stop.

"And now they are sending you messages _mocking me_ and my bloody inability to help you! To top it off, of course, you are scheduled to visit your father in Azkaban and he will have me mercilessly murdered when I least expect it. A quick jab with a wand in the middle of a busy street and a whispered _Avada Kedavra_ and it will be over for me with none the wiser. Frankly, I often wondered why Voldemort never thought of that."

Draco frowned, having no intention of allowing Potter to be murdered in such a callous fashion, wings or no wings, and made a mental note not to allow him out on the streets on a busy day. Granger would back him up.

"Potter," Draco said quietly and lifted his other hand to cup Potter's jaw. The green eyes fixed on his instantly.

Potter's chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and then he stepped closer to Draco once more. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just feel like I should be doing more. I know you want to be rid of these…" Potter's hand reached up and slid over the edge of one wing, caressing the soft feathers and sending a shivery jolt of electricity quivering through Draco's body. Potter either sensed the reaction or saw it reflected in his face, because his eyes went wide and dark as he brought his other hand up to repeat the motion on the other wing.

Draco thought it was hardly fair that he possessed an erogenous zone that Potter did not, but the bloody Auror seemed to derive just as much pleasure from watching Draco's response. "Merlin," Potter said breathily. "Are they really that sensitive?"

"Yes, Potter, damn you. They really are."

Potter smiled—practically _beamed_—and Draco felt his heart flip over dangerously. He could not, _would not_, feel anything for Potter other than generic lust. And possibly admiration, but he had felt that for years, even though he seldom admitted it, even to himself. Draco could not, however, prevent the curious warmth that flooded through him as Potter stepped even closer, lips parting for another kiss.

A loud tapping sounded at the window, drawing Potter's attention before he could complete the kiss. He frowned, obviously recognizing the owl.

"It's Ginny's," Potter said stupidly.

Draco stiffened, but Potter did not seem to notice as he moved away and walked to the French doors. He flung one open to admit the owl, a tawny, speckled creature that flew once around the room before alighting on Potter's shoulder.

"Hello, Arcturus," Potter said fondly and caressed the owl's pale breast. Draco felt a surge of jealousy that had little to do with the animal. He watched through narrowed eyes as Potter removed the note from its foot and unrolled it.

Potter frowned and allowed the tiny scroll to roll up. "I have to go."

Draco sneered. "She beckons and you run? Even now?"

Potter threw him a glare. "It's not like that."

Draco felt a surge of anger that drowned his previous feelings of affection. "You need not explain to me, Potter. By all means, run back to her."

Potter took a step toward him and lifted a beckoning hand. "Draco—"

"Just go, Potter!" he snapped. "You do not owe me an explanation. You do not owe me anything. We had an amusing interlude this afternoon and that is all there was to it. Run back to your real life, now."

He raised his chin haughtily and glared at Potter, wishing he could believe his own words. Despite his defiant gesture, he wanted Potter. He wanted him very badly, even standing in his rumpled robes with his hair a wind-tousled fright and his green eyes staring balefully at Draco with an expression he had seen a thousand times. He wondered when he had fallen so hard; and finally admitted it required every ounce of his strength not to stride forward and take Potter into his arms.

The undeniable presence of his wings stopped him. His stupid, bloody wings. If he was still a man, he would not have held back from claiming Potter as his own. But he did have wings. He was little more than a sideshow attraction now, and Potter was still the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Despite the voice inside that screamed for Draco to be selfish and demand Potter for himself, he knew the man deserved better.

Harry Potter deserved a normal life.

"Go," Draco said before Potter could speak.

The prat tried, anyway, opening his mouth and taking a step forward.

"Go!" Draco shouted.

Potter's jaw clenched. He nodded, turned, walked through the doors into the swirling snow, and disappeared.

For the first time in a long time, Draco thought about the potion he had brought back from the well.

_If you wish to atone for your crimes, you will drink it. We cannot promise you a painless death, but it will be quick, and your miserable existence will come to a swift end. _

His miserable existence.

~~ O ~~

Harry stared at Draco, hating the coldness in his silver eyes. What had prompted it? Draco had been pliant and almost affectionate, prior to the arrival of Ginny's owl, leaning into Harry's touch and returning his kiss. Harry had been hopeful for a continuation of the amazing scene at number 12, Grimmauld Place, but now it seemed not to be.

He turned and went out, wishing Draco had given him a chance to explain. He was more concerned than he had let on. He had ignored Ron's summons this morning, but Ginny's note was more alarming.

_Harry,  
I need to talk to you about Ron. It's urgent. It has nothing to do with you and your disgusting revelation. I'm at home. Please come as soon as possible.  
Ginny_

The situation with Ginny was a ticking time bomb. He had tried to forget it during the interlude with Draco, but he knew time was running out. Harry needed to try and defuse the situation as quickly as possible.

He frowned, wondering at the mention of Ron. Coupled with the earlier message, it seemed almost ominous.

He Apparated straight into her living room, assuming that the urgency of the message would excuse him barging in—even while he hoped she wasn't wandering around unclothed. He doubted that was a possibility any longer, after his _disgusting revelation_.

The room was empty. "Ginny?" he called.

"Harry!" She hurried out of the kitchen, seemed about to throw herself into his arms, and then halted awkwardly. Harry's lips thinned. He wanted to shout that he was the same person he had always been—only her view of him had changed. He kept silent, knowing it would have been a waste of words.

"Hi, Ginny. What's this about Ron?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "It's not really about Ron," she admitted. "I wanted to talk with you and didn't think you would see me unless I had a better excuse."

"Of course I would," he replied, slightly relieved that it wasn't about Ron, but feeling a different tension crawl through him at her words.

"Will you sit down?" she asked politely and gestured toward the sofa.

He nodded even while wondering how long this would take. He wanted to get back to Draco and address that situation while it was still raw. Between what had happened between them, the ominous letter, and the impending visit to Azkaban, Draco had to be feeling slightly frantic.

_I shouldn't have left him_, Harry thought as he sat down, schooling his features into a placid mask. She would only draw out the conversation if he gave any sign of impatience. He suppressed a sigh and waited as she sat at the other end of the sofa, as far from him as she could get while still sitting on the same piece of furniture.

He snorted. "It's not contagious."

She flushed. "About that, Harry. Are you sure? I mean, it's rather sudden, don't you think? Isn't it possible you are just confused, or something?"

He blinked at her and realized he should have expected it. She had not even accepted that they were officially broken up. Why had he assumed she would accept the fact that he was gay with anything but the same denial?

"Ginny—" he began, not even certain where to begin. How could he make her understand that it was not a bloody _choice_, it was who he was; that it had nothing to do with rejection her and everything to do with finally accepting something that had always been a part of him? He dragged a hand through his hair in frustration.

The fireplace flared, suddenly. "Ginny?" Molly Weasley's voice rang out. "Are you there?"

"Merlin, it's Mum!" Ginny cried and sprang to her feet. "Harry, would you—? Oh dear, Mum was very upset last night. It's probably best if she doesn't see you here. Not yet. Would you mind… um?"

"Leaving?" he offered and got to his feet, hoping he didn't seem too relieved.

"No! I really need to talk to you about this!" Her lips thinned and he almost groaned aloud.

"All right; what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Just, ah… hide in the bathroom for a minute. I'll get rid of her."

Merlin. He rolled his eyes, but obediently walked down the hall as Molly called out again.

"I'm here, Mum!"

In the short hallway, the open door to Ginny's room caught his eye and he bypassed the bathroom, wondering when she had changed the colours in her room. The last time he had seen it, her colour scheme had been vaguely Gryffindor red, but now it was much paler. In fact, it was… grey?

He stepped inside after glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was occupied with Molly's Firecall. It probably wouldn't do for him to be caught in her bedroom after the latest drama, but he was curious. What had possessed her to change things? And when had she done it? He hadn't been in her bedroom for months, even before Ron's accident.

The muted grey tones were made even more sombre by an odd-looking painting hanging over the bed. It was abstract, with splashes of colour in black, grey, and green. Harry knew art was interpreted differently by each viewer, but he interpreted the painting as garish and depressing. The green reminded him of the terrifying blast of an Avada Kedavra. He shuddered and wondered why she liked it enough to put it in her bedroom, of all places.

Shaking his head at the strangeness, he started to leave, but the open door of the wardrobe caught his eye. He saw the sleeve of what looked like a Quidditch uniform and walked over, after confirming the sound of voices still drifting down the hall. He pulled at the sleeve, wondering if Ginny had applied for a Quidditch position. He had always thought she liked working for the Ministry. She seemed happy enough with her job.

Instead of Quidditch robes, the sleeve was attached to a fancy-looking feminine dress robe, edged in lace. He dropped it in embarrassment with a grin. She would really think he had gone round the twist if she came in and caught him fondling her clothing. As he was turning away, he noticed a bit of silvery fur toward the back of the hanging clothes. Even to his untrained eye, it looked expensive.

He reached in and pulled it out by the wooden hanger. It was a long cloak of some sort of black fur, edged with thicker fur in a silver hue. Harry ran one hand over it, marvelling at its softness while mentally comparing it to the feel of Draco's hair.

The thought of Draco made him draw in a sharp breath. The cloak did not look at all feminine. The frog at the throat was a silver cord and matching button in a thick knot-pattern. Merlin, it couldn't be. Harry's mind raced. What had Draco been wearing when he was taken? Harry struggled to remember. _A black nundu-fur cloak, trimmed in silver fox_.

_It couldn't be_.

He heard the sound of footsteps and swung around—a moment too late. A sharp blow caught him on the back of the head and sent him to his knees. He fought against blackness and reached for his wand, but a large set of fingers caught his arm and bent it backward. _Not Ginny, then_, he thought in bemusement as his chin slammed into the hard floor.

He fought to stay conscious, even as he kicked out, hoping to connect with something, but a blow to the ribs was his reward for that effort. Other hands roughly searched his clothing and finally came up with his wand, while the first kept a tight grip on his arm, nearly wrenching it from the socket.

Harry twisted his head, trying to get a look at his attacker.

"Don't hurt him too much. We might need him." Ginny's voice was as angry as Harry had ever heard it. "Harry, you prick. You should not have gotten involved. Why didn't you give Malfoy's case to someone else? You hate him."

Harry was barely listening. He craned his neck and blinked against the tears welling in his eyes from the pain. Her face swam into view and beyond that—the man who held him.

"Why?" he asked. He dragged his other hand slowly out from under himself, despite the wrench given to his shoulder. His fingers sought for the chain around his neck.

"Or do you hate him? Now that I know about your sick preferences, Harry, I'll bet you had a different reason for taking the case, yeah?" The sneer was evident in her tone. "Let's get him out of here."

The chain around Harry's neck parted with a sharp tug and he whispered a spell as he was jerked onto his back. He scissored his legs in the same movement, driving one foot upward and connecting with something solid. The man grunted and Ginny made a huffing sound of annoyance, but the kick was enough of a distraction. Harry's out-flung arm allowed the chain to release from his fingers and slide beneath the wardrobe with barely a whisper of sound.

A booted foot smashed down on his abdomen, forcing the breath out of him and threatening to crush his spine into the floor. He glared up at the twisted features of his burly attacker. "I wouldn't do that again," the man advised with an ugly sneer.

"Better do as he says, Harry," Ginny advised, twirling his wand in her fingers. "It will go easier on you, at least for now."

The boot didn't relent, holding him down and preventing his diaphragm from allowing precious air into his lungs. He struggled for each shallow breath as darkness flickered around the edges of his vision.

_Draco_, he thought wildly as darkness enveloped him. _Merlin, what have they done? _

~~ TBC ~~


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Feather by feather_

_the goose is plucked._

_- Scottish proverb_

Draco was still sitting in the dark when his mother came in. She immediately cast a Light Spell and then lit several of Draco's candles and brightened his favourite Glow Lamp.

"Darling, it pains me to see you so maudlin. I have barely seen you for days. Will you come and have dinner with me tonight?"

Draco suppressed his annoyance at her intrusion. He had been toying with the poison vial, trying to work up the courage to just pop the cap and drink it. A plethora of fantasies had kept him from doing so, ranging from satisfying to just plain depressing. They all featured Harry Potter, coming back to the Manor to discover Draco's lifeless body. In some scenarios, Potter had been heartbroken, flinging himself on Draco's prostrate form and weeping hysterically. In others, he had shrugged in a bored manner and said, "At least we don't have to worry about his wings, anymore."

It bothered Draco that he didn't know what Potter's reaction would be. That, possibly more than anything, had kept him from downing the potion. He frowned at his mother with a flash of guilt. He hadn't once thought about _her_ discovering his body, although it was far more plausible than Potter finding him. He _knew_ how she would react to the sight.

He tucked the vial into his trouser pocket as he stood up. "Of course, Mother. I am sorry to have neglected you."

She smiled at him and came closer, but stopped before she was in range of an embrace, glancing at his wings as her smile faltered. "Not to worry, darling. It has been a trying time for both of us."

_A bit more trying for me than you, I'll wager_, Draco thought, but then he chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. She was merely upset and dealing with the situation as best she could. Draco decided he would be in much the same state should a child of his have a similar calamity befall him. He nearly snorted at the thought as soon as it occurred to him. There was no longer any sort of chance that he would father children. Even if the wings could be removed, Draco had been fundamentally altered. Merlin only knew what sort of changes had been wrought to his internal systems. Even despite his condition, the situation with Potter had been something of a revelation. The very idea of taking a wife and having a family seemed ludicrous.

"I am famished," he said, moving deliberately closer in order to see her sidestep. She masked the motion by turning and striding briskly toward the door.

"Good. Then let us go and partake like civilized people." She blanched as she said it—Draco could see it even though she was partially turned away from him. Draco scowled. It was going to be a long meal if she planned to make subtle innuendos every few moments. Still, it seemed unlikely that Potter would return. The man was probably wrapped in the embrace of the ginger Weaselette at the very moment. The thought made Draco's jaw clench and he stalked past his mother and went out. He thought about taking to the air and winging his way to the dining room, but he supposed his mother would consider it rude as well as mortifying.

Even so, the idea cheered him slightly. The house-elves quickly served the crab bisque and his mother made small talk about the difficulty in procuring decent crab with the hateful weather causing delays. Draco looked out the window at the growing darkness and swirling snow. He thought he might go out and fly in it once the interminable meal ended.

"Have you spoken to Harry Potter, recently?" his mother asked when a house-elf removed her soup bowl and replaced it with a lime sorbet. She took a spoonful and lifted it to her mouth to cleanse her palate. Draco did the same and idly wondered what Potter would think of such an indulgence as a five-course meal. The man was obviously used to bolting down a sandwich on the run. For some reason, the image made Draco smile before he caught himself.

Damn it all, he was not supposed to find Potter's ridiculous habits attractive. It was bad enough that he found the man, himself, attractive. Possibly more than attractive.

"Yes," Draco answered readily enough. "Earlier today, actually." He wondered why she had even asked. Between the wards and the house-elves, she surely knew every time Harry Potter entered the Manor.

"And is he having any luck?" she asked in a casual tone that immediately sent warning bells clanging through Draco's mind.

"Some," Draco replied.

"I wonder if he is really putting forth enough effort on this case. You two did not get along in school, after all. He might be holding something of a grudge."

"He is putting forth all the effort he can, Mother," Draco said dryly. "He is Harry Potter. He doesn't know how to do anything but his best."

"You seem quite confident, Draco."

"The man saved us all, Mother. It seems somehow justified to have confidence in him."

"I am worried that his emotions might be clouding his ability to do his job, in this instance. Perhaps it would be better to request someone else."

Draco's eyes narrowed at her ambiguous speech. She toyed with her wineglass, not meeting his eyes. A house-elf took away her sorbet and placed a salad in front of her.

"Really?" Draco asked dryly. "You think some underling Auror would do a better job than the Chosen One? Do you have any idea how that sounds?"

"I have seen no results thus far, Draco," she said sharply. "What has Potter come up with? Besides, I have heard rumours about the man and I am concerned…"

Draco wrinkled his nose at the salad and picked at it with his fork. He was not a fan of leafy greens, even doused with sweet citrus dressing, although the sliced pears seemed edible enough. "What rumours, Mother?" he asked and suppressed a sigh. Merlin, if she had been off visiting with Pansy's mum again, she would be unliveable for days. That woman was a veritable fount of catty gossip and usually kept his mother with her head in the fireplace for hours on end, spreading nasty rumours throughout the pureblood community.

"Well, I don't want to alarm you, but I've heard that Harry Potter might be… inclined toward men." She said it in a stage whisper, as though afraid the serving dishes might be listening devices. Draco nearly spat the pear he'd been crunching and he hastily chewed and swallowed before taking a gulp of water.

"What?" he demanded, wondering where she had picked up that titbit. Draco had only found out yesterday and he was quite a lot closer to Potter these days than the gossip mill. "Who told you that?"

"It's not important," she said quickly. Her cheeks were lightly tinted with pink.

"I think it is important," Draco replied. "Is this some random rumour, or is there actual proof?"

His mother looked away and Draco nodded.

"As I thought. Something like that would be in the papers faster than you could cast a _Lumos_," he said with a satisfied nod. He was thoughtful, however, as he turned back to his salad. What would Potter do if it came out that he favoured blokes? Had he chosen Draco only because he was safe? Potter knew Draco would never go to the papers—the press would be beside itself wondering which would be the bigger story, Draco with his bloody wings or the Savior as a shirtlifter.

"Still, Draco, it would behove you to take care. If the rumours are true, it might be best to distance yourself from the man in preparation for the day that we find the solution to your problem."

Draco's jaw clenched. His mother might be firmly in denial about Draco's _problem_, but he was beginning to realize there was no simple solution—it was likely there was no solution at all. Distancing himself from Potter was a worthy goal, but galled him that by doing so he would obey his mother's orders. Prudence warred with his need to rebel.

"And Potter is no closer to finding the culprits, is he?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

Draco pushed the green around on his plate and shot her a glance. He wondered at her sudden anti-Potter stance. Was it really the "rumour" that had set her against the Auror, or something else? She had hired him, after all.

After another palette cleanser, the house-elves brought a sausage polenta that had just the right amount of spice. Draco idly wondered how Potter would find the dish and then wished he would stop thinking about the Auror. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the clink of utensils and the sound of him and his mother eating. Having dinner with her suddenly seemed like a wretched idea and he wondered if his new physiology would provide him with heartburn as payment. He supposed he would find out.

~~ O ~~

Hermione pushed her chair back, feeling nauseous. She had tried to come up with alternative solutions for the past hour, but the evidence seemed to mock her attempts, pointing again and again to a single culprit.

Ginny Weasley.

Pokeby's potion had been in the possession of the Department of Mysteries, tucked away in a cupboard, marked "Unknown substance, possible lethal effects. For later study" and forgotten. There were hundreds of items intended for later study, but not nearly enough Unspeakables to study them all. Once in a while, however, a current event would send a researcher back into the nearly-forgotten past to seek out some information. Such seemed to have happened in this case.

An Auror named Victoria Friedland had pulled the Pokeby file the previous month in order to ascertain if Pokeby had been connected to the remains of a young boy that had been located outside of Cardiff. The dead boy's parents had recalled that he had been acquainted with Pokeby at the time and the circumstances surrounding his death had been suspicious. The Auror had noted the seized potion in the file and had sent a request to the Department of Mysteries asking if additional study had been done on the substance, seeking confirmation that it might have been used to poison the victim.

Pokeby's file had been handed off to Gilbert Douglass, and Unspeakable working closely with Ginny Weasley. Gilbert had apparently dug up the potion and sent the preliminary analysis request to Auror Friedland, who had been satisfied that the potion contained nothing that would have caused the young man's death. The Auror connection ended there.

The potion, however, had disappeared at that point. Hermione had immediately suspected Gilbert Douglass, but a quick memo sent to the Personnel Clerk had stopped that line of questioning. Unspeakable Douglass had gone to Norway on a case and had not returned, which would have seemed suspicious, except that Hermione knew exactly what case he was working, because Seamus Finnegan had gone along as the Auror Liaison and Seamus could not keep a secret if his life depended upon it. He had already Fire-called Hermione six times to ask her advice about the region.

According to Seamus, Gilbert Douglass spent most of his time underwater, trying to help recover a strange artefact in the water near Kristiansund. By evening, they were all exhausted. Gilbert would have had no time to kidnap Draco, toss him down the well, and wait for the potion to take effect. He also had no motive. As far as Hermione could tell, it was unlikely Gilbert had ever met Draco. He had grown up in Belfast and attended an exclusive Wizarding school in Athlone. Hermione had met him and several Ministry functions and he seemed entirely without guile.

Which left the only other person who had recently touched the file. Ginny Weasley. Hermione knew she had, because the return notice and date had been tacked onto the file, written in Ginny's unmistakable loopy handwriting. And Ginny had reason to hate the Malfoys, although her hatred was mainly directed at Lucius. With Lucius in Azkaban, was it possible she had turned her malice toward Draco?

Hermione put the file together, locked it in a drawer, and went to find Harry.

~~ O ~~

Draco returned to his room and slammed the door with finality. After her third glass of wine, his mother had started to prattle on about the "duties and responsibilities of being a Malfoy" and Draco had nearly bitten his tongue in half to keep from snarling at her. She seemed utterly unwilling to believe that anything had changed, even with Draco's wings in full view.

Salazar, for a day that had started with such promise, it had certainly turned into a pile of dung.

A banging on the glass drew his attention to the balcony doors. He caught his breath, hoping for Potter, and tried not to feel too disappointed when he saw it was Hermione Granger. She waved frantically.

Draco spelled the doors open and she hurried in out of the snow and tugged off her bulky scarf.

"Is Harry here?" she asked without preamble.

Draco shook his head. "I haven't seen him for hours. The she-Weasel crooked a finger and he went running off to do her bidding."

Granger froze. "He went to see Ginny?"

Draco nodded, surprised at her alarmed expression. "What is it?" he asked.

"We need to get over there. Right now," she said.

The urgency in her voice was perplexing, but Draco had no intention of barging in on Potter and the ginger bint, especially in his condition. He shook his head.

"Harry could be in danger," she said. "I might have a lead on the person responsible for your wings."

"In danger?" Draco repeated, trying not to sound amused. The thought of Harry Potter in danger was a bit laughable, but his amusement was overridden by her latter words. "Who is it?"

"I'm not sure, yet," she said and held up a hand when he glared. "I won't have you rushing off flinging hexes without proof. At the moment, it's imperative that we get over there. Hopefully, they are sitting on the sofa reminiscing about old times, but I don't think so."

Draco's gut churned and he knew she was right. Suddenly the thought of Potter in danger did not seem quite so implausible, if only because of Granger's concern. "I am not going anywhere looking like this," Draco snapped. "What if she has a houseful of Weasleys? I would rather not become a laughingstock and butt of Weasley jokes before they rush off to the _Prophet_." Even as he said it, he realized he had been making jokes at the Weasleys' expense for years, but the idea of poetic justice rearing its ugly head was unpleasant, so he cast it aside.

"Fine," she said. "I'll go over myself, and if I need you I'll come right back. Hopefully, she hasn't changed the wards to keep me out. Ginny is not exactly my friend, these days."

With that, Granger hurried back to the balcony and Disapparated. Draco paced while she was gone. It seemed to take forever and he realized he should have gotten the bloody address from her before she left. Just when he was convinced she would not return, she popped back into existence and hurried inside.

"No one was there. She changed the wards, so I couldn't get in, at first. I knocked, but when there was no answer, I broke through the wards."

Draco tried not to be impressed at her matter-of-fact tone. She made it sound so casual, as though she had unlocked a door with an Alohomora, instead of employing the gruelling process that few witches or wizards could manage without killing themselves.

"I found blood on the floor in the bedroom," she continued.

Draco looked at her sharply. "What is it you're not telling me?"

She shook her head. "Will you come back and search with me? It will be faster with both of us. I need to find out if Harry has been taken."

"Don't you mean if _they_ have been taken?" Draco asked, wondering at her sudden lack of concern for the Weasley girl.

Granger nodded. "Will you come?"

Draco suddenly realized her tension denoted _fear_. He could not remember ever seeing Granger afraid, not even during the final battle with Voldemort. It was a sobering thought. It was clear she didn't need his help; she wanted someone to hold on to, at least emotionally.

"I'll come," he said simply. He accompanied her to the balcony and she took them away.

Ginny Weasley's flat was surprisingly tidy. Draco had expected an excess of pink and kitschy bric-a-brac or stuffed animals. He supposed it was possible she had grown up, like the rest of them. There was no sign of a struggle in the main living area. Granger checked the kitchen, moving like an Auror with her wand held out and ready.

Draco pulled out his own wand and walked down the hallway, pausing for only a moment to glance into the bathroom, which was empty. He continued into the bedroom and heard Granger hurry after him. The room looked perfectly normal to Draco, if a bit sombre for such a vibrant girl. He had never thought of her as the depressed, emotional sort, but perhaps Potter's breakup had unhinged her.

The idea cheered him.

"The blood is there," Granger said, peering into the wardrobe as if someone might be hiding inside. Two small spots were barely visible on the floor. They hardly looked incriminating—she might have cut herself and gone to St Mungo's.

Draco touched one with a finger and found it tacky and nearly dried. Hours old, then.

He was about to rise when a sliver of white caught his attention, a pale object beneath the wardrobe next to Granger's foot.

"Nothing in here," she said with a sigh and closed the wardrobe door. "Where could they have gone?"

Draco leaned forward and snagged the bit of white. He felt the first jolt of fear when his fingers touched the soft object and he pulled it out. It was the feather he had given to Harry Potter.

Why was it beneath the wardrobe? Had Potter torn it off as a symbol that he no longer wanted Draco and was happy to return to his girlfriend?

"What is it?" Granger asked.

Draco stroked the feather and frowned. Potter did not seem the type to make romantic gestures such as tearing off a chain and flinging a token across the room. No, Potter was far more likely to come to Draco with pitying looks and mumbled explanations.

A thought occurred to him and he cast a spell on the feather. Letters immediately revealed themselves against the white, hitting Draco like a fist in the gut.

**_GOYLE_**.

"Harry is in danger," Draco whispered.

Granger took the feather and the colour drained from her face.

Draco paced the room angrily. "_How could he_?" he shouted. "How could he do this to me? He was my friend! _I trusted him_! I trusted him with my bloody life!"

"It doesn't make sense," Granger said, still holding the feather. "Why Goyle? Ginny and Goyle? It's completely mad."

Draco paused in his ranting to glare at her. He sneered. "Maybe Greg has a ten-inch personality."

"Don't be crude."

"You have another theory?" he countered.

Granger shrugged. "They work together at the Ministry. Maybe they became friends."

"That does not explain why Greg would do this to me!" He flexed his wings outward with a snap. "_To me_!"

She frowned. "As I said, it doesn't make sense."

"We need to find him."

"Goyle?"

"Potter! Honestly. Don't you have some sort of spell that can track him?"

Granger shook her head. "That would be exceedingly invasive. Not to mention presumptuous."

Draco growled and stalked the length of the room, tempted to break something.

"You people are not taking very good care of your Saviour." He made a mental vow to put a leash on the man as soon as they located him. He froze and turned back to Granger, who was down on one knee, casting a spell over the blood stains. "You don't think…?"

"What?" she asked absently.

"You don't think they would give him wings, as well?" The thought of Harry Potter with wings was rather horrifying. Draco liked him just the way he was, thank you very much.

She shook her head. "I don't think they can. There was only the single potion, as far as I can tell. It was a fluke. Ginny took it from the Department of Mysteries. It's rather miraculous that it didn't kill you."

Draco digested that and then forced himself to stand still and not stalk through the room destroying everything he could reach. Despite her words, he was not reassured. If they were mad enough to give him wings, then what might they do to Potter? Goyle had reason enough to hate him and if the Weaselette was acting the scorned woman…

"What if I was a lure?" Draco asked quietly.

Granger stood up with a look of frustration. "What?" she asked absently.

"Whether I lived or died, they had to know Potter would be assigned to the case. My mother would have demanded it and the Ministry would not have refused, lest they lose face for behaving in a biased fashion. You know how Shacklebolt loves to preach equality and fairness."

"You think they were after Harry the whole time?"

"Why would they care about me?" he asked derisively.

Granger frowned, but said nothing to counter the question. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. The important thing is that we find him. You know Goyle; can you think of anyplace he might have taken Harry?"

Draco shook his head. He had been puzzling it over since the discovery of the feather, and discarding every possibility. Greg's mother was not wealthy, and his father had died in Azkaban, forcing them to sell nearly everything they owned just to keep their heads above water. Greg had refused help from Draco over and over, snarling that he would never accept charity. In hindsight, Draco wondered if the offers had offended Greg beyond his tolerance.

"All right," Granger said. "Then start searching—look for anything that might be a clue. You check in here and I'll start in the other room." She headed for the door, but a nimbus of light suddenly burst into the room and circled her several times. As Draco stared, he realized it was a dog.

It finally sat at her feet and spoke with Ron Weasley's voice. "Hermione, I need to see Harry. He hasn't returned my messages and this is important. Can you please Firecall me when you get this?"

Granger looked stricken. The ethereal animal slowly evaporated and she looked at Draco. "I wonder if he knows something?"

Draco shrugged, rifling though the papers on the desk, looking for an address or an incriminating note, or anything at all of use… "Find out. But don't put your wand down."

She nodded and went out.

There was little of interest in the desk, so Draco walked down the hall and paused where he could hear Granger's conversation.

"…just want to make sure he's all right," Weasley was saying. "I know I've been an arse and I want to… Well, I want to apologize."

"I'm sure Harry will be happy to hear that, Ron," Granger said mildly. "But Harry isn't available and I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"Look, I know I don't deserve to talk to him and I probably don't deserve to be called his friend, any more, but I'm worried! Ginny sounded bollocking mad and I don't know what she'll do. We need to stop her going to the papers."

Draco's lips twisted in a sneer. _Too little, too late Weasel_, he thought derisively.

"She said she was going to the _Prophet_?" Granger asked.

"Well, no, but she ranted at me about Harry and how the world thought he was so special and wonderful, and then something about how the world deserved to know the truth. I guess I remembered how much Harry hated publicity and it sort of shocked me into knowing how he would feel. Dammit, Hermione, I know I've been a fucking prick, but I'm still Harry's friend, even if he doesn't count me as one!"

"All right, Ron," she said. "Can you meet me at my flat?"

"Yeah," Weasley said and his tone was edged with relief. "Yeah, I can."

"I'll meet you there in five minutes."

She pulled away from the fire and turned to look at Draco. "You heard?"

Draco nodded.

"I want to ask him about Ginny, see if he can remember anything she might have said recently, or anyone she might have met with. I want you to come."

Draco's wings flexed in agitation.

"I can fix that," she said and levelled her wand at him. Her Glamour Charm was quite a lot more effective than Potter's. Draco could feel the force of it wrapping around him, charging the air around him with power before settling down to a vague itchy prickle that was more sensed than felt.

"Weasley won't see them?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, but mind you don't knock something over with them, or it will look a bit suspicious. I think he'll be agitated enough by your very presence that he wouldn't notice your appendages if they weren't concealed."

"I'd rather not take that chance," Draco said dryly. "Let's go shock the weasel."

The Weasel was definitely shocked when Draco stepped through the flames into Granger's book-laden flat.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"The same as you, Ron. Harry has been working on Draco's case. If you are serious about helping him, there are a few things you need to know."

Weasley's face was pinched and his glare did not falter as he stared at Draco, but he nodded curtly. "I'm serious."

"Harry has been taken," Granger said.

Weasley's gaze shifted to her. "Taken where?"

"We don't know. This might be hard for you to accept, but we think Ginny might be involved."

"We?" Weasley snapped. "As in you and _Malfoy_ we?"

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Granger asked angrily. Weasley's face flamed, but he sat back in his chair with an air of something that resembled satisfaction. Draco recalled that they had often argued at Hogwarts. Perhaps Weasley had missed it.

"Let's hear it," he said. Without preamble, Granger launched into the long tale, recounting Draco's kidnapping and Harry's subsequent involvement with the case. She did not mention Draco's affliction, only that he had been forced to choose between poison and a more insidious potion. Weasley watched him carefully, as though hoping he had swallowed some slower-action poison and would conveniently drop dead at any moment.

Draco rolled his eyes and went to make a cup of tea. He wanted to look for Potter and the delay was maddening, although he admitted that Weasley might have a better chance of finding his sister than he and Granger had of finding Potter.

His hand shook as he pulled a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter. He remembered Potter's face the last time Draco had seen him, just after he had shouted at Potter to leave. His hand clenched and the mug shattered, sending a ceramic shard into his thumb. He winced and pulled it free, watching as blood beaded from the wound.

_Fuck. Hold on, Potter. Just hold on and I'll find you. Somehow_.

"I don't believe it!" Weasley bellowed. Draco sighed. Granger should have known the obstinate arse wouldn't accept a slur against his precious sister. It was an undeniable fact that the Weasleys stood together. When one was threatened, they all leaped to the defence. Like hyenas. Or… weasels. "You're lying!"

"Why would I lie, Ronald?" Granger yelled.

"Because you hate Ginny! Because you're jealous!"

Draco peered around the corner at that, wondering vaguely if Granger planned to hex or hit Weasley. Either way, Draco didn't plan to miss it. Her fists were clenched and she looked as angry as Draco had ever seen her, but her wand was not in her hand and she wasn't close enough to the Weasel to sock him one.

"You're one to talk about jealousy, Ron! If you weren't so jealous of Harry, maybe you could stop being so hateful and bitter and take a bloody look around!"

Weasley looked as though she had slapped him and Draco nodded in approval. Verbal bludgeoning it was, then. It would have to do. He turned his chair sharply and headed for the fireplace, obviously intent on leaving. "I can't believe it," he muttered. "Accusing Ginny, of all people."

"Weasley," Draco said. The redhead swivelled to glare at him and Draco lifted his wand to cancel the Glamour. He spread his wings slightly. "_This_ is what your precious sister did to me."

Weasley gaped at him and disbelief warred with astonishment across his features. "I don't believe it," he whispered.

"I don't know what she has against me, personally," Draco said, "Other than general hatred left over from our school days, but I seem to have earned the enmity of Greg Goyle. He and your sister have apparently joined forces."

The name seemed to surprise Weasley, whose glare faded as his eyes widened. "Goyle?"

"I was just about to mention that," Granger said.

"Shit," Weasley murmured, staring at Draco's wings. His freckles stood out in livid relief on his face and Draco wrinkled his nose, wondering what Granger had ever seen in him.

"What is it?" Granger asked, apparently picking up more from the single word than Draco had.

"Ginny knows Goyle. He's even been over. To the Burrow, I mean," Weasley said.

"Recently?"

Weasley nodded. "Yeah, I think. Last week, maybe? Two weeks ago?" His eyes kept darting to Draco's wings and away and he finally burst out, "Are they really real, then?"

Draco made a sound of disgust. "No, Weasel, I put them on just for your entertainment."

"You once dressed up as a dementor to scare Harry, so yeah, I wouldn't put it past you!" Weasley retorted.

"Boys," Granger cut in, "Can we focus on the problem? We have to find Harry, remember? Ron, can you think of anywhere that Ginny might have taken him?"

Weasley removed his glare from Draco to fix it on her. "I need… Merlin, they really took Harry?"

"There was blood on the floor in Ginny's room," Granger admitted quietly.

"Fuck. Let me think."

"I'll be in the kitchen," Draco said and bit back, _While you attempt something you've never tried_. Not insulting Weasley was going to be a difficult task.

To Draco's surprise, it only took twenty minutes. Granger's excited cry brought him out of contemplation of the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup and sent him into the living room.

"That has to be it!" she exclaimed.

Weasley nodded and looked at Draco. "It's the house where my mum's brothers lived until they died in the war—the first one, I mean. The house isn't much, since it was half blown up. The plot of land it sits on has been in Mum's family for generations. You ask me, it's a crap bit of ground full of rocks. Nothing grows there but gorse bushes. My parents used to argue about selling it, but Mum would never hear of it. She goes there to… well, to remember, I guess, and to check no Muggles have got in and messed it up. Not that you could tell if they had. Like I said, it's a wreck. She used to drag us along as kids."

"Where is it?" Draco asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.

"Dungeness."

"Can you take us there?" Granger asked.

Weasley looked uncertain, but he nodded. "I think… Yeah." His face set with a determined look and Granger nodded.

"Take me through and I'll come back for Draco." She stepped forward and knelt next to his chair. She took his hand and they shared a silent glance that made Draco consider retching, but he refrained for Potter's sake.

Weasley pulled out his wand and then they disappeared with a familiar pop. Draco surprised himself by hoping Granger lived. It was something of a shock to discover that he had actually, possibly, grown to like her a bit over the past few days. And she was a damned brave Gryffindor to let Weasley Apparate her anywhere. Merlin knew the last time the Weasel had even attempted it.

By the time he finished the thought, Granger returned, looking thankfully unSplinched. She hurried over and took his arm, ignoring his instinctive twitch away, although his reaction was caused by reluctance to experience any Granger-related visions rather than anything she might consider. To his relief, the cloth of his shirt protected him from her touch.

"Come on," she said in an exasperated tone and Disapparated them.

The first thing Draco noticed was the lack of snow. The next was the wind. It howled over the bluff on which they stood, tearing at their hair and clothing and shaking the yellowed grass on which they stood. Draco's feathers fluttered. He took in the small house that stood some distance away, perching on the edge of the cliff as though considering suicide. Draco thought it might be a good idea—fully half of the roof had caved in and one portion of the upper floor looked to be missing.

Granger released him and wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver. Weasley's teeth chattered. "We need to get out of this cold, but we can't just barge in there!" she said loudly. Her voice barely carried over the howl of the wind. "If they are in there, they will have set wards!"

Granger cast a Warming Charm on herself and Weasley and then turned as though to cast the same on Draco. He did not bother to remind her that he did not feel the cold—instead, he took to the air.

"Draco!" she yelled, although her voice was snatched away by the wind, leaving only the "aaaaaaay" sound.

Draco ignored her. He knew she would prefer to stand and debate the best approach, but he had his own idea about that. Obviously, the front entrance would be warded, but it was unlikely they would think to shield the place from above. He flew high and then dropped gently down toward the caved-in roof. A loose shingle flapped in the breeze, jutting from the edge of the tumbled section. Draco landed in what looked to be a former bedroom, now open to the elements. The roof had fallen because one wall had apparently been blown out with an explosive spell.

Draco vaguely wondered how the Prewett brothers had met their demise. Had one been standing here, in this same spot, unaware when the Death Eaters broke in and sent the spell that blasted him to his death?

He shook off his musing and focussed on his destination. He had to find Potter. The roof timbers blocked much of the access to the interior, but a small gap near the still-standing rear wall enabled Draco to squeeze through with only a momentary snag of his wings, forcing him to back out and fold them more tightly against his body.

The space left was barely large enough to traverse and reach the doorway. Luckily, the door was gone, probably blown off by the same sort of spell that had taken out the wall. Once beyond the doorframe, however, the rest of the house seemed intact, but for a large crack along the roofline. The wind howled through the opening behind Draco, suggesting broken windows or more damage somewhere else in the building.

He unfurled his wings and used the magic to lift himself into a silent glide rather than risk a creaking floorboard. There were only two other rooms on the second floor—a bath chamber and another bedroom. The bathroom was empty of personal effects, but the bedroom was eerily made up to suggest the owner was simply away and would return at any moment. A distinct lack of dust led Draco to believe the place was kept under a Preservation Charm and he wrinkled his nose. He wondered if Molly Weasley kept it up as a sort of shrine to her dead brother. He noticed a poster on the wall above the bed and the Quidditch player featured there waved jauntily. His red hair gleamed and the golden words on the poster sparkled: _Fabian Prewett. Keeper_.

He looked eerily like one of the Weasley Twins.

Disturbed without quite knowing why, Draco left the room and started toward the stairs. He was only partway down when something seemed to wrap around him, invisible and prickly. He pushed at it, only to feel it solidify and tighten, enveloping him in what felt like a thick gel. With a growing sense of panic, he struggled. His wand was still in his hand, but he realized he couldn't move—and then he couldn't breathe.

He tried to draw a breath and felt the slick wrongness ooze into his nose, so he exhaled sharply, not wanting the substance in his lungs. He tried to move, but only succeeded in shifting slightly. Even his wings were trapped and his superior strength seemed to make no difference at all.

His lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen and his brain raced to find a solution. He had never heard of anything like this—it was almost as if he were trapped in a giant bubble of gel like some sort of stasis. Movement caught his eye and he stared down at Ginny Weasley's smug face. She grinned at him from the base of the stairs.

"Malfoy. Fancy meeting you here. Greg said I shouldn't bother to ward the upper floors, but I know how tricky Hermione is. If anyone comes looking for Harry, it will be her. Honestly, I didn't expect you." The grin turned into a snarl. "I would love to stand here and watch that spell slowly kill you. It's not pretty. But I need to know how you found us."

Black spots began to swim before Draco's eyes, blurring his vision and melting her into a twisted image. He barely saw her lift her wand and cancel the spell. With the magic released, Draco crashed down the steps, unable to maintain his flight magic as he struggled to remain conscious.

"_Incarcerous_!" she yelled as he came to rest at her feet, wincing at the harsh banging his shins and forearms had taken on the way down. Ropes bound tightly around him, binding both arms and wings to his sides. She snatched his wand and then cast a Levitation Charm to lift him to his feet. She sneered into his face. "Nice wings, Malfoy. You should have taken the poison, you worthless piece of shit."

Draco debated spitting at her, but the effort of pulling air into his aching chest made anything else impossible.

She turned and gave him a shove, sending him down a short hallway to a darkened doorway. Once there, she cancelled the charm that kept him floating and pushed him once more. Draco tumbled down a second flight of stairs, unable to stop himself with his arms tightly bound to his sides. Luckily, he dredged up a quick burst of his own magic and kept his face from cracking open on one of the steps, although he still earned a painful scrape on the chin that drew blood and knocked his teeth together so hard he felt one loosen.

_Fucking bitch_!

He climbed awkwardly to his knees and heard her footsteps thumping down the stairs behind him. As expected, a blow from her sharp-toed boot caught him between the shoulder blades and sent him forward. He narrowly missed slamming his chin into the stone floor and hissed at her.

"It's easy to see why Harry broke up with you," he said, intentionally using Potter's first name.

She snarled and kicked at him, but he was ready for her and twisted around to tangle his legs in hers, bringing her down on the stairs with a shriek and then a cry of pain. Draco levered himself upward, intent on grabbing her wand—with his teeth, if necessary.

"_Petrificus Totalis_!" The voice was not hers.

The spell hit Draco and he stiffened immediately before thumping forward and bumping his face on Weasley's thigh. She shoved him away with a sound of disgust and Draco found himself rolling over, once again unable to move. He looked up into the face of Gregory Goyle.

"Draco," he said calmly. "You should have stayed out of this."

Draco glared and clenched his fists, only realizing at the last moment that he was not completely frozen. Normally, Petrificus Totalis prevented all movement except involuntary motions such as breathing. It wasn't easy to move, but Draco _could_. He decided to keep the knowledge to himself.

His resolve was tested when Weasley delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. He tried not to wince, but Greg's attention was on her.

"Guess you was right about the wards," he said.

"Of course I was right about the wards. I just wasn't expecting him. We need to know how he found us."

"All right. We'll give him the same treatment as Potter. Bring him in."

Draco remained still and allowed himself to be magically lifted once more.

~~ TBC ~~


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Of what use were wings_

to a man fast bound in chains of iron?

- Adelbert von Chamisso

Harry jerked awake, spluttering and blinking water from his eyes. He was disoriented for only a moment before his training kicked in and he froze, moving nothing but his eyes as he took in his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was not Goyle, who dropped a wooden bucket on the floor after having apparently poured the contents over Harry's head, but Draco. Ginny had just finished binding Draco to a chair near the wall, facing Harry, who inwardly cringed at the sight of Draco's wings, bound down and bent awkwardly beneath him in the chair. Harry knew how sensitive they were—Draco had to be in pain.

His next thought was to wonder how Draco had gotten here—and where _here_ was.

"The mighty hero wakes up," Goyle said with a sneer. "I haven't been impressed with you so far, Potter. I guess the stories about you defeating the Dark Lord from sheer luck were true. Too bad your luck has run out, yeah?"

Harry sat up, blinking the droplets from his eyes. He didn't get far. Metal shackles bound his wrists, linked together with a section of heavy chain that ran through a ring on the floor. He could kneel, but not rise. Harry forced himself to ignore Draco and glare at Goyle.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Ginny, why are you doing this?"

"We ask the questions here, Potter," Goyle said and took a menacing step closer, as if hoping to make Harry flinch. He didn't, although the motion seemed to trigger awareness of each ache and pain in his body—apparently they had had a bit of fun with him while he had been unconscious, judging by the sudden agony in his ribs, the ache in his jaw, and the awareness that it wasn't just water dripping into his right eye, but something stickier. His head throbbed.

Goyle dropped to one knee and gripped his chin with one meaty hand before squeezing. "Open wide, Potter," he said.

Harry fought, spying the potion vial in Goyle's other hand. He had no idea what it was, but he kneow that allowing Gregory Goyle to give him anything at all was a very bad idea.

Goyle growled and squeezed harder. "Hold him still!" he snapped.

Ginny cast a spell and Harry was suddenly immobile. Goyle forced the potion past his lips and scraped the glass over his tightly clenched teeth until he reached the hinge of his jaw. The liquid poured out, most of it pooling in Harry's cheek, but quite a lot of it trickled down his throat. He exhaled sharply, recognizing the taste instantly. _Veritaserum_.

Goyle shook him roughly by the face, sending even more of the insidious potion down Harry's throat, despite his effort not to breathe. He knew it was already too late. It only took a couple of drops and what he had absorbed through his mouth was already working its way through his bloodstream. _Fuck_.

Goyle released him and moved away as Ginny cancelled the spell. Harry spat the remainder of the potion and stared venomously at her.

She pouted. "Now, don't look at me that way, Harry. We all know how much you like your little _secrets_."

Harry glanced at Draco and the small movement seemed to turn Ginny's attention that direction. Harry quickly checked his bonds, already feeling the leaden heat of the Veritaserum as it seemed to travel sluggishly through his veins. He blinked as his vision blurred and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. He hated the side effects of Veritaserum.

"How did you find us, Malfoy?" Ginny asked casually.

Harry's shackles had been magically welded on—they would not be easily broken—and the chain looked strong enough to hold a hippogriff. Harry looked at Draco helplessly.

Draco shrugged. "I tracked him."

Harry's gaze sharpened.

"Tracked him how?" Ginny asked.

"It seems to be a benefit of these wings you gave me. I wanted to ask him a question about my case, so I followed his magical signature. He seems to have solved it."

Ginny's eyes narrowed while Harry's mind spun. Could it be true? Had he and Draco forged some sort of bond enhanced by Draco's new abilities, or was that simply wishful thinking on Harry's part?

"We will see," Ginny said and waved at Goyle, who stepped up and produced another vial from his robes. Draco did not bother to struggle, apparently knowing they would give him the same treatment and force him to drink, regardless. Harry felt sicker, watching the process. Had they given Draco Veritaserum, as well, or something more dangerous?

"Why, Greg?" Draco asked.

Goyle sneered. "Why do you think, Draco, you selfish prick. Because you killed Vince. You and fucking Potter."

Harry knew he mirrored Draco's look of outrage. "Vince set the damned fire himself!"

"We were there because of you!" Goyle burst out.

"That's a lie," Harry snapped, remembering how Draco's former minions had turned on him just before the Fiendfyre incident. They might have followed Draco into the school, but their agenda had been their own.

"Some fucking Saviour you are, Potter!" Goyle bellowed angrily. "You save only the ones you want to, yeah? You hated Draco and yet you saved his bloody life! Why?"

"Because Draco was closer!" Harry yelled back, wincing at the truth of it, even though he had not meant to speak at all.

Draco laughed aloud and it sounded full of genuine amusement. "Greg, you went along with this elaborate plot because Vince nearly killed us all and Potter saved me instead of him? Honestly? Do you realize how idiotic that sounds?"

Goyle's fists clenched. "You always thought I was stupid, didn't you, Draco?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco replied in a whisper. His expression was horrified.

"Salazar, how I hate you," Goyle growled.

"I'm sorry," Draco said and Harry's heart wrenched at the pain revealed by the two short words. "I've tried to make it up to you."

"By tossing your money at me?" Goyle yelled. "You think I want anything of yours? What did you lose in the fucking war, Draco? Nothing! Your father is in Azkaban, but he's still alive! You have your home and your friends and both your parents! You mum does not sit like a statue and stare out the window waiting for your dead father to come home! You didn't have to get a job at the fucking Ministry to keep a roof over your head and you don't have to go to work every day and watch them spit on you and call you Death Eater scum and send complaint letters about how you shouldn't be allowed to work around 'decent folk'!" Goyle's face was red and blotched and he was fairly ranting his words by the end. Draco visage was a mask of shock and even Harry felt a burst of regret for not considering how difficult it would be for the children of Death Eaters to regain some semblance of a normal life.

Goyle's voice returned to a more normal level. "So, yeah, Draco, every time I see you it reminds me what I lost and I hate you a little more every day."

Draco only swallowed and nodded. Harry could see the devastation he tried so well to hide, visible only in the tightness around his eyes and the set of his mouth. His heart ached and he longed to tell him it wasn't his fault, that the war made things hard for everyone, but Draco only raised his chin and stared at Ginny. "And what's your problem?"

Ginny shrugged. "I hate your father. But he's not around to avenge myself on, now is he? Besides, doing that to you might be the best revenge of all. Such a noble pureblood as Lucius Malfoy won't be overjoyed to have a… creature for a son, will he?" She gestured with her wand at Draco's wings.

"That was years ago, Ginny!" Harry said, amazed that she could hold onto her animosity for so long.

"I was a child!" she snarled, turning on him. "He arranged for me to be possessed by his precious Dark Lord when I was eleven years old! Do you know how long I've waited to repay him for that?" Her eyes flashed. "And you and the others smuggled him away to safety in Azkaban. He should be tortured to death! The dementor's kiss is too good for him!" Ginny's breath caught in a sob and she angrily brushed away tears. "You don't know what it was like."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Gin. Yeah, I do."

She strode forward and knelt before him. One hand reached out to caress his face. He did not lean into it as he once would have. It seemed a lifetime ago that his feelings for her ran deeper than the surface. "I know, Harry," she said softly. "It's why we were meant to be together. It's fate, don't you see?" She waited while the _No_ fought to the surface of Harry's mind, pulled forward by the Veritaserum in response to her question. She smiled and asked, "Are you _really_ gay, Harry?"

Her first question might have been rhetorical; this one was not. "Yes," he said flatly.

She recoiled and her eyes flashed. He had seen rage on her face enough times to recognize it instantly. "How?" she demanded. "How did it happen?"

Harry felt a curious sensation as the Veritaserum attempted to force him to reply to a question that had no answer. "There is no how! It's who I am! How are you good at Quidditch and how is Hermione so smart and Draco so—" He forced his jaw shut with effort, cursing the potion as she snatched onto his last words.

"Draco, is it now? You seem very interested in his case, Harry. Or is it _Draco_ you are interested in?"

_Fuck_. "Yes," he answered.

Her upper lip curled and her hand tightened on her wand as she stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious. He's a freak! Look at him!"

Harry did. Draco's hair was a wild mess, something that probably would have horrified the blond under other circumstances. The upper feathers of his wings stood up, ruffled as a likely result of Draco's state of mind. His pale eyes were intently fixed on Harry and his lips were set in a thin line. Even bruised and rumpled and with a bloody gash on his chin, he was the most beautiful sight Harry had ever seen. His heart sank as he realized it was the worst possible time to acknowledge it.

"He's not even human now, Harry. He's a monster! He's an atrocity!"

"No. He isn't," Harry replied, eyes on Draco's. He thought he detected surprise there and realized, despite everything, that Draco still thought of himself as something less than human. If they survived, Harry vowed to change that. "He's beautiful."

She barked a harsh laugh. "Merlin, are all shirtlifters as desperate as you?" Her tone was scathing. Goyle chuckled.

"I don't know," he said, forced to reply to the ridiculous utterance.

"Do you want to fuck him, Harry?" Ginny asked in a purring tone.

Harry glared at her. "Yes," he hissed.

She threw her head back and laughed before turning to Goyle. "Can you believe it? Give his childhood enemy a pair of wings and suddenly he wants to fuck it. I think you're the freak, Harry."

Goyle nodded and his lip curled. "We have to believe it. He's under Veritaserum. Are you a poof, too, Draco?"

Harry's breath caught and his fingers began to slide along the links of the chain, searching for a weakness. Perhaps he could attempt a wandless spell and break at least one link…?

"That depends on what you mean by poof, Greg," Draco said dryly. Harry glanced at him in surprise.

"Do you want to fuck blokes?" Goyle asked angrily.

"Of course," Draco replied smoothly. "Sex is sex. You're missing out if you stick to only one sort, Greg. You should expand your horizons."

"That's sick," Goyle spat.

"Do you want to fuck Harry?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," Draco said. "Who wouldn't want to fuck the Saviour?"

Harry winced, trying not to feel the sting of the words. He had hoped Draco's feelings were somewhat deeper. "Do these questions have any purpose?" he asked.

Ginny looked at him and her eyes narrowed. "They have been very enlightening, haven't they, Harry? It's amazing how much truth a single person can hide. Malfoy, are you really able to track Harry's magical signature?"

Draco was silent for a long time and then he uttered a single, "No."

Ginny looked triumphant. "Then how did you find us?"

"I didn't," Draco replied.

Harry burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. His admiration for Draco was growing exponentially. Draco wasn't fighting the Veristaserum, he was simply giving truthful answers that were not quite what Ginny sought. She would drill down to the correct answer, eventually, but Draco would make it hard on her. Draco met his gaze and his eyes glinted with merriment. Despite the gravity of their situation, he felt a moment of pure joy.

"Face it, Ginny, he's smarter than you," Harry said.

Her face turned ugly. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to Crucio you in the past six months," she snarled.

"I'll do it," Goyle said and cast.

~~ O ~~

Draco caught his breath when the Cruciatus Curse hit Potter. It sent him to the ground instantly, teeth and fists clenched tightly. He writhed, unable to even scream through the agony obvious in every line of his body.

His former girlfriend watched in apparent satisfaction and Greg's face wore a wicked smile. His eyes lit up in delight, something Draco hadn't seen in a very long time. He cursed himself for not having seen—or at least sensed—Greg's duplicity.

Potter's eyes were wild, though Draco knew he could see nothing but white-hot pain. "Leave him be!" he shouted, straining at his bonds.

"Am I hurting your boyfriend, Draco?" Greg asked in a childish lilt.

Draco glared. He didn't know if Potter was his boyfriend, but he was certainly _something_, especially after his truthful admission that he didn't think Draco was a monster. In hindsight, Draco supposed it should have been obvious, coming from Potter.

"Stop it, Greg!"

"I don't take orders from you anymore, Draco!" Greg yelled and increased the intensity of the Curse.

Draco muttered an epithet, took a deep breath, and set about breaking his bonds. The ropes were tight, especially around his upper arms, which was a good thing in this case. He flexed his muscles and tried to force his arms away from his sides, using his wings as best he could to aid his effort, even though it hurt like the bloody devil.

Draco felt more than heard the snapping of fibres, a few at a time, and then more. He redoubled his effort and the ropes dug into his skin painfully. He ignored it, knowing it was nothing next to what Potter felt under the Crucio. He relaxed and kept his features carefully blank but for the stare of purest rage fixed on Greg. A thrill of victory shot through him as he felt some play in the stretched ropes. He shifted in his seat and moved his wings, trying to ease them upward.

Greg released the spell on Potter just as Draco's ropes loosened even more, giving him enough play to move his hands.

"How d'you like that, Potter?" Greg snarled with an evil laugh. "Want some more?"

Potter gasped for air—sobbing for breath through lungs that Draco knew felt full of hot cinders. It was almost impossible to breathe under a Cruciatus. The pain was too intense.

"Doesn't look so mighty now, does he?" Greg asked.

"He seems pretty helpless without his Expelliarmus," Ginny commented.

Draco managed to wrap his fingers around the lowest ropes and pulled, straining his muscles once more. It was much more effective to stretch a single section of it, and he methodically worked his way upward, yanking and stretching with as much force as he could muster.

Potter raised his head and glared balefully at Greg, who retaliated by hitting him with the Curse once more. Draco would have been glad for the distraction if his heart wasn't screaming in sympathetic rage with every writhing twitch of Harry's limbs.

Finally, Draco was able to wriggle his wings nearly free of the ropes, giving them even greater play. He wriggled, almost frantic, and then Ginny Weasley turned around to look at him. She made a surprised moue with her mouth and lifted her wand, so Draco used every bit of strength he possessed to wrench his wings free. Whatever spell she used missed as Draco snapped into flight, taking both chair and ropes with him. He brushed the ceiling and then let himself fall, bracing himself as he hit the ground hard. The chair legs buckled and the seat split in half. The ropes fell away as Draco rose again, spinning as he did so to avoid Weasley's spells.

Her screams seemed to penetrate Greg's trance—induced by his torture of Potter—and he looked up just in time to watch Draco snatch up a bit of the broken chair and send it rocketing toward him. The broken wood hit Greg in the forehead and sent him to the floor.

"Greg!" Weasley screamed. She was distracted for only a moment, but it was enough. Draco flew at her and knocked her arse over teakettle. Her head cracked against the stone floor and he paused long enough to hope the blow had killed her before he dropped to the floor and rushed over to cradle Potter. Tremors still shook his body and his eyes were glazed with pain, but he smiled wryly at Draco.

"You're a useful bloke to have around," Potter said. "I think I'll keep you." The chains clinked and pulled taut as his hand found the edge of one wing "I don't think you're a freak or a monster, Draco. I think you're beautiful."

Draco's arms tightened around him and he forced a chuckle through an odd tightness in his throat. "Remind me to keep you away from Veritaserum. It apparently brings out your inner Hufflepuff."

Potter only sighed against his neck, and Draco eased him back down. "We need to get these chains off of you. Hold on." Draco hurried over to Weasley, tossed her wand across the room, and went through her robes to find his. She didn't move. Draco glanced at Greg, who was still in a heap near the far wall. There was no sign of Potter's wand, so they had either stashed it somewhere or else Greg had it.

Wand in hand, he returned to Potter and carefully cut through the shackle on Potter's right wrist. The metal dropped away, leaving a harsh-looking red welt where Potter had wrenched at his bonds. Draco looked at him sympathetically. Potter was bloody and bruised and still looked perfectly wonderful. Draco smiled at him and then cried out and fell to the floor as the too-familiar effects of a Stunner hit him.

He struggled to stay conscious and reached for his wand, which had fallen from his fingers and lay on the stone a few inches away.

"_Molly_?" Harry asked in a disbelieving tone.

~~ TBC ~~


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Sixteen**

_To fly as fast as thought,_

_you must begin by knowing_

_that you have already arrived._

_-Richard Bach_

Draco fought the blackness licking at his senses, amazed that he was even partially conscious. Stunners were usually instantaneous; he had never known anyone to counter one. Potter reared back and reached a hand out to him. The chain rattled through the ring on the floor—and stopped. The shackle they had removed from Harry's wrist was too large to fit through the hole. Harry was still effectively manacled by his other wrist. And he couldn't reach Draco's wand.

Draco's vision went dark, but he forced it back and tried to focus on Molly Weasley, who crouched over her daughter and cast _Ennervate _to revive her.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Potter cried. "There's something you don't know! Ginny is trying to kill us! She's working with Goyle to destroy us!"

Molly sent him an ugly look and cast a succession of spells on Ginny before helping her to her feet. "You check on Greg, dear. I'll deal with Harry."

Draco nearly groaned as his worst fears were realized. She was in league with the others. Potter, thankfully, figured it out at the same time. "Oh, Godric, not you, too."

Molly walked forward, holding her wand steady. "You had such promise, Harry. Where did it all go wrong? Was it fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Is that what turned you from us?"

"What are you talking about?"

The darkness gripping Draco began to lift and the terrible weight that seemed to hold him in place eased. He stretched his fingers slowly toward his wand, moving carefully so he would not draw Molly's attention. If she had any idea he was not unconscious, she would hit him with another Stunner and he didn't think he could fight a second one.

"I tried not to blame you, Harry, I really did. I thought you were innocent when it came to Fred's death, and maybe it was an accident, even though it was _you _they were after. They were always after you. Everyone else, especially my Fred, just… got in the way." Her voice hitched and Draco heard the chain rasp as Potter tugged on it. Draco stretched his fingers and the tips brushed the edge of his wand.

"Molly, no," Potter breathed.

"And then Ron! My beautiful Ron, trapped forever in a chair, drinking himself insensible and hating everything and everyone! How could you do it, Harry? How could you let it happen?"

Draco stretched until he thought the tendons in his shoulder would pull free. He shifted his gaze to Ginny Weasley, crouched over Greg, who would doubtless be back in action in a moment. Draco needed to free Potter quickly.

"I tried," Harry said in a barely audible tone. "I tried to save Ron. I tried to save them all."

Molly shook her head. "And then, to add insult to injury, you break up with Ginny, who was always there for you! Always pining for you! She used to cry in her room while holding your photo. Did you know?" Molly's voice was turning ugly and Draco pressed his fingertips carefully to his wand and began to slide it toward himself, taking extreme care not to roll it and send it skittering away. He was thankful the wood made little sound on the stone floor.

"And now she tells me you're nothing but a bloody shirtlifter! How could you, Harry? How could you do this to my family? To me? I practically took you in when you were a lad! I tried to become the mother you never knew! And this is how you repay me?"

"I'm sorry," Potter said and Draco felt a surge of rage toward the woman. None of them had survived the war unscathed, and Potter had done all he could to keep them from a future grimmer than she could possibly imagine.

"And it all started with that pile of dung there!" she cried. "_He _let the Death Eaters into the school! _He's_ the one that made it possible for Greyback to hurt my Bill! It's _his _fault Dumbledore wasn't around to protect my boys! Turning him into an animal wasn't nearly enough! The Malfoys always had the luck, didn't they? My family struggles to put food on the table while the Malfoys live like kings! And look at him now! That potion killed everyone else that ever drank it, but not him! Not the spawn of Lucius Malfoy!"

"What are you saying?" Potter demanded.

"He was supposed to die!" she screamed.

"You meant to kill him?" Potter asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

"I meant for him to kill himself," she corrected. "He should have done what any decent pureblood would have done and taken the poison. Trust Draco Malfoy to get even that wrong."

Draco felt the poison vial in question, still nestled in the pocket where he had placed it earlier. It seemed like days had passed since then.

"I didn't expect you to get involved, Harry. Even after all you've done, I would have spared you. If only you would have left his case to someone else. We thought you hated him. Why would you offer to help a horrid freak like him?"

"He's not a freak," Potter said in an even tone, enunciating each word. "Now, I think you should put the wand down and let me go. This has already gone too far."

_Save your breath, Potter_, Draco thought. _She's obviously beyond salvage_.

"No, Harry, I'd say it hasn't gone far enough," Ginny Weasley interjected. Draco shifted his attention back to her. Greg stood next to her shakily, looking confused and swaying a bit. "Mum, you have to kill Malfoy. It's the only way. We can Obliviate Harry so he won't remember any of this foolishness, but Malfoy has to die."

Molly Weasley frowned at her and Draco took the opportunity to close his fingers completely around his wand, lift it slightly, and whisper a spell. Potter's last shackle split and fell away.

"Harry is in love with him, Mum!" Ginny went on. "Ask him! We gave him Veritaserum, so he has to answer honestly. _Ask him_!"

Potter quickly shifted his position to cover the fact that he was now freed. _Good Auror_, Draco thought approvingly.

"Are you in love with Draco Malfoy?" Ginny demanded, apparently not willing to wait for her mother.

"Yes!" Potter snapped.

She lifted her wand with a half-sob and yelled, "Oh, Harry. How could you?" Her features twisted as she glared at Draco. "I hate you!" She directed her wand at Draco, wrenching him out of the stasis induced by Potter's single-word answer. He did not wait for her to cast a Killing Curse, but took to the air, snatching up Potter in passing. His arms wrapped around Potter's waist, trying to be gentle against his broken ribs, but knowing it was more important that they get out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, the ceiling was not overly high and there was only one exit from the room. He headed that way anyway, hoping they could make it.

A spell seared through one wing, nearly causing him to cry out in pain. He lurched sideways, thrown off-balance, which was fortuitous—another spell passed over their heads and exploded part of the ceiling. Potter's former adopted family was pulling no punches.

"Your ex-girlfriend seems upset," Draco commented and then something snared in his wings and sent him dropping like a stone. He let go of Potter, who landed hard, but rolled away. Draco's knee hit the stone and he scraped one palm while trying to keep his face from slamming into the floor. He flexed his wings and tried to rise, but he was tangled in something netlike, black and sticky as tar. _ Fuck_! He threw himself sideways as another spell nearly hit him. Pieces of stone sprayed him from the small crater in the floor. The crazy bitches meant to turn him into mincemeat.

Hands touched him and he looked up into Potter's worried face. Draco shoved his wand into Potter's hands. "Here! Defend yourself. I can get out of this."

Potter hastily erected a Shield Charm and Draco gripped one of the rope-like sections. He pulled hard and it gradually tore away from his feathers, feeling like a bandage coming away from a raw wound.

"_Avada K_—"

Potter shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Potter's countermeasure must have worked, since Draco was still breathing. He tore at another sticky binding, gritting his teeth.

"Molly! Ginny, stop this, please!" Potter yelled.

"It's too late, Harry."

Draco glanced at Ginny, who raced for her fallen wand, but Potter hit it with another spell that sent it sliding across the floor. The wand landed near Greg, who was still in the same stance, gazing at them blankly. Thank Salazar whatever spell had hit him was still in effect. They were in enough trouble as it was. The thought was confirmed when Molly Weasley barked another spell. Draco suppressed a shout as Potter went down.

Molly's voice was disturbingly calm. "I should have known you wouldn't go down easily, Harry, but this is all for the best. You'll see. You'll get over this idiotic affliction once we fix up your memory and set you right. Say goodbye to Malfoy."

Draco glared at her as she lifted her wand, but a shout from the doorway sent her down in a crumpled heap. Draco's attention snapped to his rescuer.

"It's about fucking time!" he called. "What the hell were you doing out there? Taking in the sights?"

"Molly reset the wards when she entered," Granger explained. "Took me the devil's own time to get through them without alerting her. And I had to make sure she was part of this and not just visiting at a very inconvenient time. Is Harry all right?"

Draco crawled over to Potter, who lay unmoving, but a quick hand to his throat disclosed a welcome pulse. Draco looked for his wand, but it was not immediately in sight. He scanned the floor nearby, knowing it could not have fallen far when Potter went down.

"I should have known you would turn up," Ginny yelled with a sneer. "Coming to rescue Harry, or are you in love with Malfoy, too?"

"Drop your wand, Ginny. It's over."

Ginny barked a laugh. "I don't think so." Her wand spat orange fire and Granger countered it with a Shield Charm, but the orange bolt sizzled through the invisible barrier and hit Granger in the chest. She screamed and sank to one knee. Ginny laughed harshly. "See what I mean? I'm an Unspeakable, remember? I know many things that you don't."

Unable to locate Potter's wand, Draco gave up and tore at the bonds once more. If he could free his wings, he could at least take Potter to safety and come back for Granger. He mentally willed Granger to get up and cast something particularly nasty at the ginger-haired girl, because he had quite had enough of the despicable little bint.

Thankfully, Granger did. "A modified Cruciatus?" Granger snapped as she climbed to her feet. "Is that supposed to make it less illegal?"

"No, I just enjoy the side effects," Ginny commented as Granger went down again, legs seeming to collapse beneath her. Ginny nodded at her horrified look. "Yes, it disrupts all motor functions. Unfortunately, it's still experimental and quite unpredictable. Sometime it causes blindness, sometimes immobility. Here, have another!" She cast again, but Granger cast a blueish bolt that hit the orange dead centre and sent it ricocheting into the wall.

Draco tore a long strip free of his right wing, taking a single white feather with it. He grimaced as he flung the rope-like substance aside. Granger sent several more hexes at Ginny, who deflected or dodged them and returned her own.

"Potter, please wake up," Draco muttered and shook him with one hand while the other ripped at another section of sticky binding. "Harry, we could use your help."

Potter shifted and muttered, but his eyes remained closed.

"Harry!" Draco hissed, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Movement other than bright bolts of magic caught his eye and he saw Molly Weasley sit up. "Harry for fucks' sake, Voldemort is back!"

Potter's eyes snapped open and Draco felt immense relief as the Auror's gaze fixed on him. "Draco?" he asked.

"You might want to locate your wand," Draco said and contorted his shoulder to reach the topmost section of his wing and yank free another piece of the tarlike substance. Potter reached out to help, wincing as he tore away a black tendril as though it had torn his own skin.

They both looked up when Granger shrieked. Draco saw her enveloped in a greyish cloud—Merlin knew what it was doing to her. Ginny was down on one knee, hair tangled and blood streaming from a gash on one cheek, but she held her wand steady, obviously directing the spell.

"Potter, your wand!" Draco said urgently and then spotted the edge of it—underneath Potter.

Potter reached for it and sent a hex flying at Ginny, but another spell hit her first. She cried out as she lurched sideways and lay still.

"Ron?" Potter asked incredulously. The single word was echoed by Molly Weasley, whose gaze travelled from her son to her daughter and back again. She was on her feet, but looking as unsteady as Greg had earlier.

"Hey, Harry," Ron called as he dispelled the cloud around Granger with a burst of air and then glided in his chair to park next to her prone form. "Mum, what are you doing here? Are you mixed up in this, too?"

"Ron, you shouldn't be here!" Molly hurried over to crouch at Ginny's side. She looked panicked and wild, hands flailing. She reminded Draco of someone and after a moment he realized who it was. His Aunt Bellatrix.

"Keep an eye on her, Potter. She seems to have left sanity behind."

Potter looked at him and then his eyes widened. "Duck, Draco!"

He did it without thinking, pushing himself to the floor in response to Potter's urgent words. Something whooshed over his head with a violent displacement of air, and then Potter lifted his wand and cast. Draco turned to see Greg fall backward as the chair leg he had been about to bludgeon him with skidded across the floor.

"I think you need better friends," Potter commented.

Draco nodded and got to his feet. Molly was still arguing with her son.

"You should go back home and let us deal with this, Ron. You're in no condition to be out—"

"Apparently, I should have been out long before this. I've been too wrapped up in my own self-pity to see what's been going on under my own nose. I should have known when you let Goyle come to the Burrow that something wasn't right. I ignored my own instincts because of you, Mum!" Ron threw her a glare and then reached down to touch Granger's face. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"I did it for you, Ron," Molly said with a sob, cradling Ginny in her arms. "You and Bill and… and Fred."

"How could this possibly benefit any of us?" Ron snapped. He used his wand to _Ennervate _Granger, who writhed for a moment and then began to cough. Draco felt a moment of relief at the sound, thankful that she was alive. It was possible he rather liked her these days.

"All our troubles started with him!" Molly cried and flung an accusatory finger in Draco's direction. "He let the Death Eaters into the school to attack my Bill and that led to every terrible thing that followed. Fred would still be alive if not for the Malfoys and you would not be in that chair! Now he's even turned Harry against us!"

"Mum, that's crazy. It was war! You can't blame everything on Malfoy. We all made mistakes. We keep making mistakes, but you can't go round turning people into creatures and trying to kill them!"

Molly just shook her head and cried into Ginny's hair. "I just want my family back. I want it back the way it was."

Potter rose, holding his forearm tightly to his side. Draco stepped closer and put an arm around him before cradling him protectively with one wing. Potter threw him a grateful look and leaned against his side.

"You need to get to St Mungo's," Draco said quietly.

Potter nodded, but he lifted his wand and _Accioed _each of the loose wands in the room, starting with Molly's and ending with Greg's. Draco's borrowed wand lifted itself from Ginny's clothing and whisked into Potter's hand before he gave it to Draco. "I wonder what they did with your wand? This one belongs to your Mum, yeah?"

"Hopefully they didn't break it," Draco said and meant it. His old wand had been through a lot, including playing a part in the downfall of Voldemort. He wanted it for its connection to Potter, if nothing else.

Granger lifted a hand and placed it over Ron's, which Draco took as a sign she was feeling better. Sure enough, she crawled to her feet, using Ron's chair as support.

"I'll take them to the Ministry," Potter said. "We'll sort it out there." He moved away from Draco and limped over to give Hermione a hug before solemnly shaking Ron's hand. "Glad to have you back, mate."

Ron shrugged and then sent a worried glance at his mother, who kept mumbling, "You don't understand. No one understands." He lifted his wand and cast a Sleeping Charm on her before looking back at Potter. "She'll be all right, yeah?"

Potter nodded. "We'll take her to St Mungo's."

"I'll do it," Granger said hoarsely. "I think I need a potion for my lungs. It hurts to breathe."

She walked over and pulled Molly away from Ginny's still form after checking to make sure the ginger girl was still breathing. Granger propped Molly against herself and then looked at Ron. "Will you stop by my place tonight? I think we need to talk."

Ron blushed, but nodded. Granger gave him a tentative smile, waved at Potter and Draco, and Disapparated.

"I'll take Goyle to the Ministry and come back for Ginny," Potter said.

"You're in no condition to make two trips!" Draco protested.

"I'll take Ginny," Ron said and they both looked at him.

"He can do it," Draco said quickly, remembering that Ron had transported Granger earlier without mishap. "I'll help him."

Potter looked uncertain, but then he nodded. "All right." He walked over and crouched next to Greg, although "staggered to his knees" was a more apt description.

Draco glared at him. "Take Greg to the Ministry and then get yourself healed, Potter. You've played the hero enough today."

Potter barked a laugh. "Some hero. I had to be rescued." He smiled. "Thank you, by the way. For saving me. You, too, Ron!"

"Yeah, well, I'm out of practice, but still useful, maybe?" Ron muttered.

"I've been trying to tell you that for a long time, mate."

Ron nodded. "I guess I'm finally ready to listen."

Potter grinned and then bound Greg with several spells to keep him immobile. Draco marched over and picked up Greg so Potter wouldn't be foolish enough to try it. He propped his former friend against Potter, who swayed a bit beneath the weight. "I'll, um… I'll be over later?"

Draco felt a rush of warmth. "I'll wait up." They exchanged a look that Draco thought might be _meaningful_, and then Potter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco's lips. After only a moment of gentle suction, Potter stepped back and Disapparated, taking Greg with him.

Draco ignored Ron and walked over to Ginny. He lifted her easily, using both hands to avoid trying to explain his feat of strength to Ron. He carried her unconscious form over and deposited her into Ron's lap. Ron jostled her for a moment and then stared at Draco owlishly.

"So. You and Harry?"

Draco shrugged. "It seems that way. It's up to him, of course."

"Why is it up to him? Don't you like him?"

"Of course I like him!" Draco snapped and then his eyes widened as he realized he was still under the influence of Veritaserum.

"How much do you like him? Are you in love with him?"

Draco glared, not at all willing to disclose his feelings for Potter to the man's ex-best friend, or reinstated best friend, or whatever the hell Weasley was now. Still, the potion did not allow him to refrain from answering. "Yes," he snapped.

Weasley blinked at him. "And does he love you?"

"Yes," he admitted in a tone of amazement.

Weasley sighed. "Damn it, I suppose I need to stop hiding at home and get back to keeping an eye on Harry. Merlin, I stay out of his life for a few bloody months and look what happens? He falls for _you_, of all people!"

Draco scowled, but nodded. "I don't deserve him."

Weasley sighed. "I'm starting to think none of us deserves anyone. Maybe we just have to do the best we can and hope they put up with us, yeah?"

"That almost sounded intelligent, Weasley," Draco said with a smirk.

"I still don't like you very much," he snapped.

"The feeling is mutual."

Weasley nodded as if satisfied. "Of course, if you hurt Harry I'll cut your damned wings off and shove them up your arse." He gave Draco a pointed stare, nodded once, and Disapparated.

Strangely, Draco wasn't upset that Potter's triad seemed to be once more intact. Some things were just meant to be, it seemed.

He considered Disapparating, but instead took the stairs out of the basement and made his way outside through the front door. The stiff wind felt good whipping through his hair and plucking at his clothing. Draco spread his wings and took to the sky.

~~ O ~~

Draco refused to pace in his room and wait for Potter to arrive, so he forced himself to put on a pair of soft green pyjama bottoms and prop himself in bed with a book, reading by the light of a single oil lamp. Even so, he kept rereading the same paragraph over and over, distracted with wondering what had happened at the Ministry, and half-fearing that Potter was more badly injured than he had suspected.

Finally, he heard the French doors open in the other room. Giving up all pretence of nonchalance, Draco tossed the book aside and slid off the bed. He was only halfway to the door when Potter appeared in the doorway. Draco felt his heart leap at the sight of him. Harry wore standard Auror robes, likely picked up at the Ministry, and several fluffy bits of snow were visible on his shoulders and in his hair, glittering as they melted. Potter--_Harry _smiled wryly and scraped at his hair with his fingers, only to muss it over his brow and grimace when his hand came away wet. _Fuck me_, Draco thought in bemusement. _I really am in love with him_.

"Hi," Harry said in a shy tone.

"Hi," Draco breathed and then took several steps forward to embrace him with arms and wings both, just before kissing him possessively. Harry melted against him with a sigh that seemed both grateful and bone-deep. The visions were barely noticeable this time, a quick blur that held more sensation than images. Draco was far more interested in the kiss than the portents, but he cut it short in order to pull back and look at Harry critically. "Are you all right?"

Harry nodded and his hands slid over Draco's bare back. "All healed. I had a few broken ribs and they gave me some potions for the pain. I think one of them contained a sedative."

"You're exhausted. It's been a very long day. Would you like a massage? I'll try not to use my full strength on your puny muscles."

Harry laughed. "That sounds brilliant, but perhaps later. Right now I'd really like you to come and fly with me. The frigid air might wake me up."

Draco frowned. "But you're tired."

Harry stopped trailing his hands over Draco's back to reach up and cup his face with both hands. He leaned forward and sucked at Draco's lips, first the upper and then the lower. His gaze was earnest when he said, "I would _really _like to stay awake for a bit longer."

Draco's pulse raced and he nodded, suddenly more than willing to go for a quick flight if it meant Harry would be awake. The Auror's answering grin was breathtaking before he turned and made his way back to the balcony doors. Draco followed him outside, to find the snow falling softly, as it had been the first time Harry had kissed him. So much had happened it seemed like weeks had passed.

"I'll Apparate home and get my broom," Harry said. "I'll be right back."

Draco's hand caught his wrist before he could disappear. "You don't need a broom to fly with me." He pulled Harry closer and guided Harry's hands to the back of his neck. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and held him tightly. "Ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded and then Draco's wings launched them into the air with a powerful sweep, sending snow flying from the railing in a shower of powder. Draco felt Harry's legs lift and wrap around his hips.

"This is a promising development," Draco said against Harry's ear.

"Very," Harry replied and buried his face in Draco's neck. Draco moved his hands lower, gripping Harry's arse to keep him from sliding off as he took them toward the clouds. "Where are we going?"

"Up to the moon," Draco said. The Manor grew smaller and smaller and disappeared completely into the darkness and enveloping clouds. Harry clung to him, shivering, as Draco pushed through the clouds and finally burst out into the moonlight. He stopped and tipped backward until he lay in a reclining position, lazily moving his wings to keep them aloft.

Harry lifted his head and looked around in amazement. "How are you doing that?"

"Magic, Potter. Now cast a Warming Charm on yourself before you freeze."

Harry let go of Draco's neck to reach for his wand and stop his teeth from chattering with a spell that sent a tingle of warmth over them both. Harry sat up a bit to gaze around more completely.

"It's so beautiful and peaceful up here. Why haven't I spent more time flying above the clouds?"

Draco bit back a retort about Harry's busy Auror schedule. Barbed insults seemed out of place here, and they no longer carried any potency now that Draco's feeling had changed so radically. He was glad of his silence when Harry turned back to stare down at him.

"You're even more lovely," Harry said and touched his face with a smile that made Draco wonder why they had left the house, with the bedroom so delightfully close.

"Have you been nipping at the Veritaserum again?" Draco asked in amusement, but his hands caressed Harry's arse, kneading them as he pressed Harry upward just a bit, to show him the direction of his thoughts.

"Maybe," Harry admitted. "Can we go back? I'm wide awake now." He leaned down to press his lips against Draco's and maintained contact even as Draco let them fall back down through the clouds, until the wind whistled against them and turned Harry's clothes and Draco's wings into fluttering staccatos of sound. Draco waited for Harry to panic, but he seemed to implicitly trust that Draco would not allow them to plough into the snow-covered ground.

Draco slowed their descent without half trying, spreading his wings and rolling them back into a near-upright position before carrying them back to the balcony. He dropped gently to the white stone and Harry slowly detached his legs from Draco's hips and even more slowly detached their lips.

"Still awake?" Draco asked hopefully as Harry stood on his own, once again gathering snowflakes with his unruly hair. One landed on the tip of his nose and Draco kissed it, flushing slightly with embarrassment at the silly gesture.

"Very awake," Harry said. "Do you mind if I spend the night?"

"I was ready to tie you to the bed if you had other plans," Draco said as he opened the door to let them inside.

Harry stumbled inside and his eyes went very wide. "You were?"

Draco's cock, already partially hard from Harry's kisses, stiffened completely at the obvious interest blatant in Harry's tone. Merlin, the very thought of tying him to the bed… "Have you ever been tied to a bed before?" Draco asked before he could stop himself, suddenly throbbing with lust and a flood of jealousy.

"No, of course not! Who would I trust? But I'd be… you know. Willing to try. With you."

Draco was rendered speechless by Harry's innocent words. Who would he trust, indeed? Only Draco. Which would have been considered all sorts of wrong in the eyes of nearly everyone outside of the room they currently occupied. Draco locked the door with a spell and pulled Harry into another embrace, this time to give him a wry smile. "Sometimes you really are larger than life, Potter."

Harry snorted a laugh and poked a finger into Draco's abdomen.. "No, not me. I'm just Harry."

Draco shook his head fondly, finally accepting that Harry truly believed it. "Well, just Harry. I plan to take you to bed now. Are you ready?"

"More than ready," Harry said.

~~ O ~~

Harry followed Draco into the bedroom, fighting a sense of unreality. The flight had been amazing, but even with the Warming Charm, Harry was chilled. His fingers shook as he unbuttoned his Auror robes, although he admitted it also might be due to slight nervousness.

Draco pushed his hands aside and worked the buttons through the holes for him. "Cold?"

Harry nodded. "A bit."

"I'll warm you."

Harry felt a blush rise into his face and admitted to himself that it was already working, although most of the heat in his body seemed to be pooling in one area. The memory of their earlier lovemaking hurried the process along. When Draco's hands reached Harry's groin, they paused. A familiar smirk curved Draco's lips and his grey eyes seemed to smoulder with sudden heat.

He said nothing, only brushed the knuckles of one hand over Harry's hardness, earning a groan. The sound seemed to jolt Draco into movement. He leaned in for another kiss and His wings wrapped around Harry like a possessive blanket. Harry reached up and slid his hands over the soft edges, caressing in a long sweep.

Draco left off rubbing Harry's cock through his jeans and gripped his hipbones to pull him closer—Draco's answering hardness felt delightful against Harry's erection and he suddenly needed their clothing to be gone.

Harry fumbled for his wand for a moment, located it, and then Vanished his clothing with one spell. He had probably sent the replacement Auror robes to Timbuktu and would get an earful from Kingsley for losing them, but at the moment it was the least of his worries.

"Mmmm, better," Draco said against his lips.

Harry didn't dare to Vanish Draco's pyjama pants, but those were simple enough to slide over his lean hips until they dropped to his ankles, allowing him to step out of them. "I approve of your general lack of clothing," Harry commented. "And your bare feet are incredibly sexy."

"A foot fetish, Harry? Who would have guessed?" Draco's tone was sardonic, but his breathing was less that steady, likely thanks to Harry's hand wrapping around his cock to give it an experimental squeeze.

"I think I only like them because they are attached to you," Harry admitted.

"Like the wings?"

"Mmm, I like those, too." Harry had not actually removed his left hand from Draco's feathers, adoring the feel of them. A fierce sense of pride gripped him at the knowledge that no one had ever been allowed to touch them but him. "It is possible I have a feather fetish."

Draco made a mock gasp, echoed by Harry, reacting to Draco's hand finding his cock and stroking in rhythm with Harry's movements. Their knuckles banged together for a moment, until they found the same cadence. "A feather fetish? That's even odder than having a thing for feet. What would people say?"

"I've never cared before what people would say. I'm not about to start now." Harry could barely string the sentence together properly—the mutual wanking made it difficult to think. As delightful as it was, however, he wanted more. "Bed?"

Draco nodded and let go of Harry, who made his way to the bed and sat down on the edge before trailing a hand over the soft coverlet. "It isn't green," Harry commented with a smile. The bedding and fabrics in the room were a pleasant blend of terra-cotta, pale blue and dark beige.

Draco pounced, sprawling atop Harry and forcing him onto his back with a surprised yelp. "I've been out of school for a long time, Harry. I don't always identify with Slytherin, you know."

"I knew there was Hufflepuff under there, somewhere."

Draco growled and sank his teeth into Harry's shoulder. Harry yelped and then laughed aloud before gripping Draco's hair and pulling him into a proper kiss. They battled for domination for a few long minutes, until the competition became secondary to sensation as their bodies rubbed together.

"Harry," Draco whispered.

"Evil Hufflepuff," Harry amended. "You know what that does to me."

"You'll stop saying that word, Potter, if you know what's good for you."

Harry chuckled. "Or what?"

"Or I'll stop doing this," Draco threatened and squeezed his cock with a delicious twisting motion.

"Never shall that word pass my lips again," Harry promised on a moan.

"Good."

Harry swept his hands over the ridges of Draco's wings. "Draco. I don't think we'll ever be able to get rid of your wings."

"Don't sound so guilty. It isn't your fault, you know."

"I know, but do you hate them overly much?"

"You like them, don't you?"

Harry flushed and rubbed his hands over the white softness once more. "You know I do."

"Well, then, perhaps they aren't so bad."

Harry let out a pent-up breath and then forced himself to keep speaking, even though the pressure on his groin was making thought processes difficult. "It's all going to become public knowledge, you know, with the arrest of the Weasleys. Frankly, your parents are going to be the worst obstacle and I really don't know—"

"Potter," Draco said warningly.

"Yes?"

"You are talking too much." With that, Draco silenced him with a kiss.

~~ O ~~

In truth, Harry's words disturbed him, but the amazing sensation of having Harry beneath him was too distracting. They would deal with their problems later—right now it was time for other things, such as reducing Harry Potter to incoherency.

He reached between them and took Harry's cock in hand, earning an erotic moan that was trapped in their mouths. Draco rewarded him by sliding his tongue over Harry's again while twisting his hand and dragging it over the head of Harry's erection.

Harry's hips bucked, sending his length more firmly into Draco's hand.

_Merlin_, Draco thought, _there is nothing better than this_. It was worth nearly dying for, and the wings, and everything.

"You," he said against Harry's lips, unable to express more than that.

"No, you," Harry replied and swept his hands down Draco's wings to his backside, where he gripped Draco's arse and squeezed. "I need you."

He did not have to say it twice. Draco left him for only a moment, realizing with surprise that although he did not feel cold, he could most definitely feel Harry's warmth, which was something of a revelation as he returned to it after snatching a jar of lubricant from the bedside drawer.

Harry levered himself onto an elbow and watched as Draco uncapped it. Draco smirked and Harry laughed aloud as the scent filled the air.

"Orange, Draco?"

"I might have had a house-elf fetch this for me after you mentioned you liked it."

Harry's hand skated over Draco's brow, pushing his hair aside. The look in Harry's eyes was something worth dying for. Draco swallowed hard and then concentrated on coating the important bits with the cool oil.

He prepared Harry with his fingers, moving down to take Harry's cock into his mouth while he stretched and teased with his digits. He flicked his tongue lazily over the head of Harry's cock, loving every gasp and moan. The polished Auror was gone, leaving only Harry—his Harry.

Draco left off playing when Harry's cries reached the desperate stage and one of his hands tugged almost painfully at Draco's feathers. He slowly fit himself into the prepared space, sliding in blissfully, taking care that Harry was not discomforted in any way. Judging by his adoring expression, he was fine. Draco smiled.

"I never expected to find you adorable."

"Should I thank the wing potion?" Harry asked. He tugged at Draco's wing once more.

Draco snorted. "That might not be remiss. I would never have had the courage to approach you, otherwise."

Harry nodded. "Nor I, you. Although their methods and reasoning were deplorable, I cannot fault the end result. I regret that you hate what you have become, but, by Merlin, Draco, I think you're wonderful."

"Now who's the Hufflepuff?" Draco asked, pushing forward with a sharp thrust to forestall Harry's response. "And it's possible I don't hate myself as much as I did, thanks to you. In fact, I rather enjoy having the ability to do _this_."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, held on tightly, and then lifted them until they were upright, balanced by Draco's magical ability to hover. Harry still held one wing, but flapping was unnecessary.

Harry let go with a gasp, eyes wide and brilliant. Draco leaned back a bit, thankful that the ceiling in his room was high, and Harry slid more firmly onto his cock. He gripped Draco's shoulders with both hands and levered himself upward, catching on quickly.

"You are very creative," Harry said in an approving tone. "I'm the luckiest man alive." He braced himself with hands and legs, flexing his muscles in a way that he would probably regret the next day, but it felt so amazing that Draco couldn't bear to change their positions. He only hoped he wouldn't lose his concentration and send them crashing back to the bed.

Harry lifted himself and fell, over and over, nearly pulling free of Draco's cock each time before impaling himself. Draco helped, hands on Harry's hips, using his strength to lift and hoping he didn't leave too many bruises. Harry's breath quickened in time with Draco's.

Not much longer… He let go of Harry's hip with one hand in order to wrap it around Harry's cock, which slapped against his abdomen with every downward movement. It was still slick with lubricant and slipped through his hand easily. His thumb and forefinger caught on the head before riding over it and then back down.

"Draco, oh Draco, Draco," Harry chanted and then his body was tensing completely, wrapping even more tightly around Draco's cock, squeezing around him and sending an orgasm exploding through his body. It was even more intense than the first time they had made love, which Draco had thought to be impossible.

Draco flipped them over and allowed them to fall back to the bed, with Harry on the bottom this time to spare his wings.

"Wow," Harry said.

"Agreed."

"Will it always be like this?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure. We'll have to see what it's like when you top."

Draco laughed when Harry's eyes widened. Logistically, it shouldn't be difficult, especially when they were airborne.

"Give me a few minutes," Harry said and Draco laughed again, burying his face in Harry's neck. They chuckled together for long moments, until the room went quiet and their breathing steadied.

Draco thought Harry had fallen asleep until he asked, "Are you really all right? With your wings, I mean?"

"Yes. I think I am, Harry," he replied. "I am still alive and I have you. I did not always believe it, but now I think I made the right choice. In fact, I have something for you." Draco shifted away from Harry's warmth and reached down to fumble in his discarded clothing. He returned to his place with two items and placed them both in Harry's palm.

"What is this?" Harry asked, squinting in the dim light of the lamp.

"The poison that Greg and the others left in the well with me. I considered taking it several times since that day. Frankly, it was always the thought of you that stopped me."

Harry's hand clenched around it. "I'm glad," he said. "You won't need it now."

Draco shook his head. "No, I don't think I will."

The other item was the feather and chain Harry had worn around his neck. Draco had repaired the chain while waiting for Harry to complete his Auror duties.

"I missed this," Harry said. "Will you put it on for me?"

Draco nodded and unhooked the clasp to place it around Harry's neck. The gesture felt important, somehow, and the solemnity was reflected in Harry's eyes. It felt like a promise.

Before Harry could say anything that would lead Draco into babbling foolish nonsense in return, Draco said, "You know, you still owe me a favour."

Harry blinked, obviously not expecting those words. "What?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "Yes, when we were in Pokeby's house, you said you owed me a favour and I told you I planned to collect."

"Then… what do you want?"

Draco smirked. "I will let you know. Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."

Harry spluttered as Draco dropped his head onto Harry's chest and snuggled closer, but it did not stop him from carding one hand through Draco's hair and the other over one wing. "Merlin, you will never cease to be an adventure, will you?"

"Not on your life," Draco mumbled. Harry was still muttering about "unfair, wicked Slytherins" and "how am I supposed to sleep, now?" when Draco drifted off to sleep, feeling more contented than he could ever recall.

Somehow, he knew everything would be all right.

~~ TBC ~~

Yes, it's pretty much over, except for the epilogue! WOOT! :D Thank you so much to everyone reading and reviewing! I love you guys!


	18. Chapter 18

**Epilogue**

_Though we are bound to ground,_

_held fast by chains of earth,_

_ever shall we reach for the stars._

_Our spirits, they are free._

_~Anonymous_

Draco fought a growing panic attack; only the feel of Harry's hand in his curtailed his need to hyperventilate as the doors of Azkaban swung open.

"Are you all right?" Harry whispered.

Draco nodded curtly, but Harry obviously decided the gesture was a lie. The frown marring his features told Draco he was about to press the issue, so Draco admitted, "Every time I come here, I feel that they will lock me in a cell and confess that I am meant to be locked up."

"What?" Harry asked and then barked a laugh that had the burly-looking guard, six steps ahead, glancing over his shoulder. Harry lowered his voice. "Draco, surely you don't mean that."

Draco shrugged his wings, knowing they were only visible to Harry. They had perfected the Glamour Charm during the past six months and Draco wore it on a semi-permanent basis. He put it on like an additional layer of clothing, barely noticing it. A few people could see through it only because they expected to see Draco's wings. Harry, of course, and Granger and Weasley. And his mother.

"I suppose not," Draco said in response to Harry's question. "But I still feel responsible for certain… events. Without a doubt Molly Weasley held me accountable."

Harry's eyes flashed and Draco could not help feeling a surge of pride when the Auror rose to his defence. "_Certain events_ were dictated by circumstances set up by a madman and you have more than paid your dues for any—"

Draco laughed aloud. He couldn't help it; Harry was simply adorable when he worked himself into a froth, especially when justifying Draco's actions. Merlin, sometimes he still felt like pinching himself to validate the reality of Harry's affection. Draco lifted Harry's hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles.

A lopsided grin twisted Harry's lips and Draco nearly dragged him into a kiss. Only the catcalls of prisoners as they walked down the centre of the cell-block stopped him. Halting in a corridor of Azkaban in order to snog was not really an option. In fact, snogging in Azkaban at all would be extraordinarily inappropriate.

They reached the end of one corridor, bypassing a variety of inmates, some with blank stares and others who reached out to them with clawed fingers, screaming wildly. Draco shuddered and moved closer to Harry. He hated this place. A spiral staircase led to a higher level, one containing more refined prisoners, Draco knew from his previous visits.

The guard used his wand to open another wooden door with a set of complex spells. He held it open for them—in deference to Harry, no doubt, because Draco never received such courtesy when he was alone. Draco released Harry's hand.

Midway down the cellblock, a set of chairs had been set up in front of a set of iron bars. Draco's mother sat in one, although she rose with a rustle of lavender silk when she spotted them. She walked forward gracefully and smiled as she took Draco's hands and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Darling, you're late," she admonished.

Draco flushed, not bothering to explain that Harry was amorous in the morning and they were frequently late. The visions induced by her touch were easily catalogued and pushed aside for later Pensieve review—Hermione Granger was having the time of her life charting each of Draco's portents to see which came true and which did not. He often considered making up something outrageous just to throw off her research, but he did not, of course, since he valued his body parts.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said and then turned toward the bars to face his father. Lucius' face was impassive, as always. "Hello, Father."

"Draco," he replied. "I see you are still consorting with the unworthy."

Next to Draco, Harry snorted. "It's nice to see you, too, Lucius. Are your sheets a high enough thread count, or should we arrange to have some silk worms imported?"

"Harry," Draco hissed. "You promised not to argue with him this time!"

"I was not arguing. I simply asked a question."

The guard snorted a laugh and several sets of eyes turned to him, causing him to cough nervously. He pulled out his wand and cast a _Muffliato_ to give them some privacy before shuffling back a few steps. Draco knew damned well he could hear every word, but at least the other prisoners on the block would not be privy to their conversation.

"Lucius," Draco's mother admonished. "Be nice."

Draco's father looked horrified. "To _Potter_?"

Draco couldn't help it; he chuckled. It was just too brilliant, seeing his father again, and his mother acting so _normal_, and Harry's exquisite smirk… Well, damn it all, Draco was actually happy, which was something of a revelation, frankly, considering how much he had dreaded this meeting. Of course, the one six months ago had not gone nearly as well.

"To _Harry_," his mother corrected and gave Harry a reassuring hug. Thankfully, Harry had stopped looking terrified by her embraces sometime during the last month and now he even managed to smile crookedly. Draco made a mental note to reward him for that.

"Thank you, Narcissa," Harry said smoothly. "I am sure Lucius and I will become fast friends once he returns to the Manor."

Draco thought it more likely that Harry's bones would decorate some obscure wing of said Manor, especially if he took his father's current expression into account, so he thought it wise to change the subject. "You are looking well, Father."

"Let's see them, then," his father said in a tone laced with steel.

"Father…"

Lucius' face was set. Even his mother did not dare to argue with that expression. Draco reluctantly dropped the Glamour, which was done by merely not thinking about it any longer. The spell's effectiveness required a limited amount of concentration. Removing it was simple—putting it back would have to wait until they left Azkaban and retrieved their wands. It took the guard a moment to notice—when he did he yelped and staggered back a few steps in surprise. It was a testament to Granger's abilities that the spell had withstood even the magic-cancelling wards of Azkaban. Draco had felt it waver upon entry, but it had held.

Draco's eyes flashed angrily when he turned his attention to his father. "Are you satisfied?" he demanded.

"No," his father retorted. "I will only be satisfied when they are _gone_."

Draco felt Harry ease closer to wrap an arm around his waist. "They will never be gone, Lucius. _Deal with it_."

His father's eyes flashed and Draco sighed inwardly. Even with the increased number of visits—Harry had used his influence to allow his father familial visitation every quarter rather than once per year, which had done wonders to improve his mother's mental state—Draco knew it would be a cold day in hell before Lucius accepted what he had become.

"Can't you do something about that?" his father snapped to his mother, waving a hand in agitation.

"Lucius," she said sweetly, "Deal with it."

All three of them gaped at her. She smiled at Draco while his father sputtered wordlessly.

"Do not look at me like that, Lucius Malfoy! I was also displeased at first, but now I have accepted that our son is unique. And you have to admit that Harry's assistance has been beneficial to all of us, you included. I called off the last group of thugs you hired to hurt Harry and I suggest you stop sending them. I will no longer condone such behaviour."

"_You what_?" Three sets of voices rang together, causing the three men to glance at one another, suddenly bonded by testosterone and shared incomprehension.

Draco's mother ploughed on as though unstoppable. "Draco has never been happier. Harry clearly adores him, as do most of Harry's friends and his acquaintances at the Ministry. You will be out of here soon and I expect that you will not act like an outraged buffoon and destroy the status that we have miraculously regained. In fact, I demand it."

"You demand—?" Draco's father's face turned an unbecoming shade of red. Draco slipped an arm around Harry's shoulders and urged him back a few steps. True to form, his parents began to shout at each other in earnest. Draco led Harry out of range of the _Muffliato_ and then laughed quietly into his hair.

"That was… unexpected," Harry said in amazement. Only a faint, angry buzzing came to their ears, evidence that Draco's mother would not be swayed in her argument. Draco knew his father was doomed to failure, but it was good to see them acting like their old selves again, even with his father still behind bars. Draco was thankful that his mother had finally recognized that Harry had no intention of leaving. Hell, it had taken _him_ three months to accept that fact.

"Well, now that you have two Malfoys on your side, I think Father hardly stands a chance, don't you?"

"Merlin, he actually sent his minions after me? I thought that attack in Northumbria seemed contrived."

Draco frowned. "I should have been watching the coffers more closely. I try to monitor all outgoing payments, but so many of them seem legitimate on the surface…" Draco trailed off and smiled sheepishly when Harry threw him a look. It was not easy having an Auror boyfriend when your father's activities were, at times, questionable.

Harry jerked a head toward the couple. "How long will they argue?"

Draco shrugged his wings, drawing Harry's attention. The Auror lifted a hand and drew it over the feathers in an absent caress. Draco moved closer with a sigh and pressed himself against Harry. "As long as the guards allow it. They once locked themselves in the south parlour and argued for seventeen hours."

"I can't imagine such a thing," Harry said dryly, obviously referring to their last row, which had lasted nearly four hours and thankfully ended in amazing sex that involved Harry slamming Draco up against the wall and entering him from behind while touching Draco's feathers—his breath quickened at the memory and his hand dropped to Harry's arse to give it a gentle squeeze. He masked the movement with one wing, even though the only visible cell was empty.

"Harry," he whispered.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous," Harry said. "It's a wonder we ever leave the bedroom. However, I can't believe you're seducing me in prison."

"Can't you?" Draco asked and mouthed the shell of Harry's ear. A vision pushed at the edges of his mind, but he ignored it—they came with less frequency the more time he spent with Harry. He supposed familiarity made them unnecessary.

Harry groaned. "Fuck, I suppose I can, since all it takes is one look at you."

Draco chuckled, but he felt a rush of warmth just the same. "Romantic sap."

"Sexy devil."

Draco leaned into him, content to do nothing more than breathe the same air and soak in Harry's presence. Merlin, he had probably applied the romantic sap label to the wrong person. He wanted to take Harry home and strip off his clothing one piece at a time. Draco straightened with a sigh as he realized the guard was watching them. Bloody pervert.

"I can't wait to get out of here," he muttered.

"Me, too. Do you want to speak with your father again or…?"

"I'll go with you. Father is bound to do little more than glare and sulk at this point. I would rather not be subjected to it. I suppose you want to torment yourself by visiting the Weaselette?"

Harry nodded. It's… well, I feel I should."

Duty, of course. Draco could not even complain, since it was one of the things that made Harry who he was. "All right. I will come with you."

Harry took his hand and squeezed it. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," Draco said, preening.

Harry laughed. "Arrogant prat."

"It comes with being a sexy devil."

They made their way to the end of the corridor and down one flight of stairs, closely watched by a different guard who opened the door prior to their descent. The man stared at Draco's wings as if unable to believe his eyes.

"Costume party," Draco explained. "Directly after this visit."

"You don't need to do that, you know," Harry said as their footsteps echoed in the stone hallway.

"I know." Draco often considered showing his wings to the world, instead of only a select few people in his—and Harry's—inner circle, but somehow he preferred to save them for Harry, whose eyes lit up every time he saw Draco, and whose fingers constantly sought out Draco's feathers for a light caress or a tug.

"Are you coming with me only so you can gloat?" Harry asked with a sly grin.

Draco sniffed. "Of course. I am alive, she is in Azkaban, and I have _you_. I think I'm justified in rubbing in my victory a bit, considering."

Ginny Weasley's cell did not resemble Draco's father's in the slightest. It was much smaller and had few accessories and none of the opulence. There were a number of luxuries, Draco noticed. Soft, colourful blankets covered the hard-looking cot, and several books and feminine toiletries lay upon the single rough-hewn table.

She looked up from a book and got to her feet with a gasp. "Harry!" she cried and flung herself toward the bars. She reached through them and stretched out her fingers, as though trying to beckon Harry close enough to touch. Draco's eyes flashed; he would have none of that.

Thankfully, Harry seemed to agree. He stopped several inches from her outstretched hand. "Hello, Ginny."

"Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you! Have you come to take me out of here? This place is so terribly cold and dreadful, and I've missed you so."

Draco barely refrained from gnashing his teeth. The bint was as mad as her mother. Molly Weasley was incarcerated at St Mungo's. Her insanity seemed to be getting worse, although Draco personally thought much of it was an affectation cleverly utilized to avoid Azkaban.

Harry coughed. "No, I just came to see if there is anything I can get for you."

"My wand?" she asked with a grin.

Harry tugged at his hair and Draco moved behind him to wrap his arms around Harry's waist and partially enfold him in his wings. Ginny's eyes flashed with rage, flicking to Draco only for a moment. She always tried her best to ignore Draco's presence and he enjoyed making it impossible.

"Sorry, I can't do that," Harry said. "Do you need more books? Parchment?"

Tears welled into her eyes and she sobbed brokenly. Her hand was still stretched through the bars. "Harry, please. It's so terrible here. I'm so sorry! Tell them I'm sorry I listened to my mother and Greg. I didn't do anything wrong! It was all their idea."

Draco sneered at her. He had been at her trial—at all of them, actually. Ginny had come up with the plot after becoming chummy with Greg and learning that Greg blamed Draco for Vince's death. She had stolen the potion and helped Greg snatch Draco from Diagon Alley. The well had been on a secure plot of land bordering the grounds of a friend of Greg's father—Greg had remembered it from his childhood and thought it to be the perfect grave for Draco. They had fully expected him to die there, whether from drinking the poison or Pokeby's potion.

Molly Weasley had apparently caught Greg and Ginny discussing Draco's survival and Harry's involvement sometime after Draco's survival became known. Rather than being shocked and upset, she had helped them plot a way to eliminate Draco for good. Harry's involvement in the case had been an obstacle until his revelation had encouraged Ginny to include him, although Draco believed she never meant for Harry to die, only to be Obliviated and have his memory modified to think he was Ginny's adoring boyfriend. Greg just wanted them all dead.

Draco had visited Greg's cell a number of times, but he had finally given up after being utterly ignored. He still send round occasional gifts, not letting Greg know who had sent them, although he probably suspected. He also made sure Greg's mother needed for nothing. Draco sometimes wished he had treated Vince and Greg better while they were teens; perhaps everything would have turned out differently.

His guilt was balanced by the knowledge that he would not change anything if it meant losing Harry. He was selfish enough to admit that, at any rate.

"I only want out, Harry! Please get me out!" She began to cry in earnest, until a coughing fit shook her frame. She leaned weakly against the bars.

"Let me get you a drink of water," Harry said and quickly strode toward a pitcher on a small table in the centre of the hallway. Wands were not allowed at all in Azkaban—they had been confiscated at the door.

When Harry was out of earshot, Ginny's coughing ceased abruptly. She glared at Draco. "I'll be out soon," she snarled. "And when I do, _I will get you_."

Draco snorted. She had been found guilty of theft, kidnapping, and attempted murder. She would not be going anywhere for quite some time. "We shall see. In the meantime, I will be sure to take _very good care_ of Harry."

"I hate you!" she burst out. "I hate you so much!"

"And I will be sure to let the Wizengamot know that their efforts to rehabilitate you have gone for naught," he said in mock sadness.

She shrieked and threw herself at the bars, fingers curling into claws as she reached for him.

"Draco." Harry's voice was mildly chastising and he frowned, holding the pitcher and obviously wondering how to pour a serving for the now-raving girl, who made no attempt to retrieve the tin cup from her bedside table, though she did stop grabbing at the air.

"She started it," Draco muttered.

Harry gave him a fond look and then turned to Ginny. "Our presence here obviously upsets you. I think we'll go."

"Just him!" she shouted. "His presence upsets me! Make him leave, Harry. I want to spend time with you, just the two of us. I know you will love me again if you just give us a chance."

Draco suppressed a snap of his wings with effort. The bloody bint never gave up.

"Merlin, Ginny. You know I love Draco. You helped me to see that. I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I think Ron and Hermione are on their way." Harry's voice trailed off just as the door at the far end of the hallway creaked open. Harry let out an audible breath. "Yes, here they are now."

"I don't want to see them," Ginny said, but it was too late. Harry was already striding rapidly toward them, dropping the pitcher off at the table on his way. Draco hurried to join him and they reached Weasley and Granger together.

"How is she?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "No better. She is still insisting that I will fall in love with her."

Weasley's gaze moved to Draco and he grinned wryly. "No chance of that, eh?"

Draco sneered and pretended to ignore him, even though the bloody prat had grown almost tolerable over the past few months. Draco was even helping the ginger idiot work on a device that would hold him in place on a broom and allow him to fly again. George Weasley frequently assisted them, which was a challenge in itself. Oddly, they all spent quite a lot of time at the Weasley residence. Draco believed it was Harry's way of assuaging his guilt over sending the only Weasley girl to prison and having the matriarch incarcerated in the hospital. Arthur Weasley had been in a state of near-shock for a long time and Draco had thought he might follow Molly's lead and try to destroy them all. Thankfully, a long trip to Romania to visit Charlie appeared to have helped to restore Arthur's usual positive attitude. When he returned, he was much more relaxed and did not seem quite so lost and vulnerable.

"You should go see her, Ron," Granger said gently. "You know she hates me."

Weasley nodded. "All right. I'll be right back. She never talks about much except how she needs to get out so that she can win back Harry from the winged menace here." He made a vague gesture toward Draco and earned a feathered slap on the back of the head. "Oi! Watch the feathers, Malfoy! Harry, can't you keep your stork on a leash?"

Draco growled and stepped forward, but Weasley sent his chair zipping down the corridor. His laugh rang incongruously in the depressing chamber.

Granger shook her head and sighed. "You two are more annoying as friends than you were as enemies." Before Draco could protest, she asked, "Did you see your father?"

Draco nodded.

"I was wondering why your wings were visible. I'll put the spell back in place once we get outside, if you care to wait for us."

"That won't be necessary," Draco said. "I'm taking Harry straight home once we leave here." He took Harry's hand and gave him a look that left no room to doubt what they would be doing the moment they reached Harry's bedroom.

She giggled. "Godric, you and Harry are insatiable. Do you think it's a side-effect of his wings?"

"Hermione, stop trying to analyze Draco," Harry said in an exasperated tone.

"Sorry. Just curious."

"What about you and Ron?" Harry asked and Draco cringed. "Not insatiable?" He had no desire whatsoever to think about Granger and Weasley's sex life. Or lack thereof.

"That is none of your business!" she said hotly, but a bright red blush on her cheeks suggested they had at least figured out some sort of erotic arrangement. The very idea made Draco wrinkle his nose in dismay while Harry laughed.

"Then stop asking about ours!" Harry said.

Draco concurred. "Speaking of _ours_, I think we should be going."

"Yes, we really should," Harry added and gave Draco's hand a squeeze. "But don't forget you and Ron are coming to dinner tonight. Kreacher has promised to be on his best behaviour."

Granger wrinkled her nose. "We'll be there. Just don't forget to send a note this time if you choose to stay in bed."

Harry flushed and Draco grinned. That had only happened once. Thankfully, Granger had been smart enough not to seek admittance to the bedroom; she had only knocked on the door to verify they were not dead.

It took longer than Draco liked to retrieve their wands and finally leave the prison environs. When the heavy metal gates clanged shut behind them, Draco flexed his wings and filled his chest with the cold sea air. The sky was overcast and growing dark. It was perfect.

"Shall we fly?" he asked, offering his hand to Harry.

Harry ignored it only to step closer and wrap his arms around Draco's neck and tug him into a kiss. Another vision enveloped him and he let it come this time, since it showed Harry with a brilliant smile on his face, holding a handful of feathers that could only be attached to Draco's wing. Harry looked older and Draco could only hope it was far in the future, and that the vision was true, because Harry looked just as happy as he did at this moment. Draco held him more tightly, kissed him for long moments, and then lifted Harry and shot skyward with a burst of magic and a flash of wings.

Harry wrapped his legs around Draco's hips, silently displaying his trust that Draco would never drop him. Draco let go with one hand, cast a Warming Charm to keep Harry from freezing, and then headed south. As soon as they were near enough to Apparate, he would take them to Grimmauld Place and indulge in his latest game—forcing Harry to lie still while Draco dragged his feathers over various parts of Harry's naked body. Watching him squirm and thrash and pant with growing need was brilliant torment.

Harry laughed with delight as Draco sent them into a downward spiral until they brushed the sea spray. He took them upward again, delighting in Harry's love of flight and, frankly, Harry's love in general. He rolled them over and floated in the air while Harry lay atop him and kissed him, ignoring the wind as it whipped at their clothing and made messes of their hair.

Before long, Draco began to fear losing control and dropping them into the sea. Harry had a way of destroying Draco's concentration, a fact he flaunted whenever possible. Despite the growing danger, Harry seemed to have no fear at all, beaming down at Draco with an elated expression, glasses missing, because they always seemed to fall off somewhere and Draco was forever buying him replacements.

Draco angled them downward suddenly, forcing Harry hold on tightly as Draco headed for a bright patch of green perched atop a rocky cliff.

"I thought we were going home," Harry said when Draco deposited him on the grass.

"We'll get there," Draco promised and then pounced on him, tugging at his clothing with growing urgency.

Harry's hands wrapped around Draco's fingers, as if trying to halt their motion. "But Draco, look how sandy it is here. Last time we… well, you remember! I had sand between my arse cheeks for days! It wasn't fun!"

Draco admitted the argument was valid, but he was not dissuaded. Harry simply looked too edible with his windblown hair and his serious, earnest expression. And even though Harry held Draco's hands, he was not actually stopping the movement as Draco unbuttoned his shirt.

"Fine, I'll bottom," Draco said and yanked Harry's shirt from the waistband of his trousers.

"If we could just—_what_?"

Draco nipped at Harry's bare shoulder in mock annoyance. "Don't act so surprised. It's not the first time and I know you've been wanting to." In truth, it had taken Draco a few days to decipher what Harry's speculative glances meant. Seeing the gleam in Harry's eyes told him he had been correct, which was something of a relief. Sometimes he still worried that the novelty of having a winged lover would wear off.

Harry pressed a kiss onto his lips and said, "If you're sure." Harry seldom topped, but mostly due to logistics rather than a lack of desire for alternate positions. It was simply easier to deal with Draco's wings that way.

For reply, Draco Vanished the remainder of their clothing and then Transfigured Harry's discarded shirt into a soft blanket, spreading it over the grass to hopefully keep out the worst of the grit.

Draco knelt and then leaned forward to rest his palms on the makeshift blanket. He turned to peer at Harry, feeling a bit like a bloody flying horse with his wings jutting into the air. The thought was so disturbing that he almost called it off and got to his feet again, but then he felt Harry's chest against his back and Harry's arms wrapped around his waist.

"Merlin, do you have any idea how you look?" Harry growled.

_Ridiculous?_ Draco wanted to reply, but Harry's lips touched the back of his neck, nuzzling in that perfect way of his and short-circuiting Draco's thoughts.

"So hot," Harry continued.

"If my father could see me now, he would roll over in his bloody grave. Well, if he were dead, that is."

"Mmmm, and just when I thought this couldn't get any better, you go and make it perfect," Harry quipped.

Draco tried to speak, but Harry's hands moved to his wings, stroking them as he fit their bodies together, and not quite letting go even when he cast the spells that prepared Draco for his entry. Merlin, he was right. It was perfect, especially with the sharp scent of heather and the bracing sea air, and the afternoon sun shining down upon them… And then it was even better with Harry inside him, moving with gentle urgency, giving as well as taking, making sure their pleasure was mutual and that Draco wanted for nothing.

Harry brought them both to completion, murmuring words that were lost on the breeze and muffled by Draco's hair, but Draco knew what they were. He repeated them back using hands and lips and feathers. Someday he would speak them aloud.

The way Draco saw it, even if he lost his wings, as long as he had Harry Potter he would always be able to fly.

~~ FIN ~~

Author's Note: What a crazy ride, yeah? This is now one of my fav fics. I plan to turn my attention to the next HD epic once I get a few more oneshots and sequels out of the way. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I wish I could answer all comments, but OMG I have been writing so much! *runs off to write more more more* I love you guys! :D PS (I know I never explained what Draco required for Harry's "favour" and I'm sort of hoping to revisit these two for a short story or two in the future.)


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